Harry Potter and the Glorious Scythe
by The Zig
Summary: [Sequel to EoR] Surrounded by danger. Cut off from friends and allies. Guided by an old enemy. Hunted by a supernatural predator. In the Realm of the Dead, no one lives but Harry Potter... and even he might not last much longer.
1. The Hidden World of Me

Harry Potter and the Glorious Scythe

Chapter 1 » The Hidden World Of Me 

----------

July the sixth was not a happy day at the Dursley house. The horrible freak nephew had returned to the pleasantness of Privet Drive, and the boy was quickly ushered into the house before any of the neighbours could see that there was another person living there.

The boy's name was Harry Potter, and he was certainly no stranger to being thrust quickly through the front door by his panicked uncle, so he knew the routine. Grab the trunk before anyone can think to lock it in the cupboard, drag it upstairs, dash into the spare bedroom before Dudley can block the way, and lock the door.

Realising he had forgotten something, Harry put his face near the keyhole and yelled out a hurried hello to the family.

He was done.

The boy placed Hedwig's cage on the chest of drawers, and slipped over to the window. It was still quite bright outside, as it was early evening; he unlocked the window and opened it a little, enough to allow a bizarrely coloured bird to sidle in.

"You're not going to be able to stay here," Harry whispered to it, hoping none of the Dursleys were hovering outside the door. "They think Hedwig's bad enough, and at least she looks normal and stays in a cage most of the holidays. Have you got anywhere else you can go for a while?"

Ajax ruffled his feathers and strutted across the windowsill. "Oh? Where am I meant to stay? A bloody bird-house? Nah, I'll live outside. Best hang around anyway, in case you get yourself into any more trouble."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What trouble can I get into here? Except for if I refuse to paint the fence," he added, grumbling.

The bird fixed a beady eye on him. "I'd say you're in more trouble than before. You've got a whole host of loonies after you now - a few Death Eaters that didn't get caught and don't know their precious Dark Lord wasn't all that dark; the Five would be pretty happy to get their hands on you; we don't have a clue where that damn daemon got to - and knowing your luck, the house'll prob'ly fall down on you as soon as you're alone."

"We can only hope," Harry snapped tiredly, collapsing backwards onto the bed. "Fine, hang around the street. Just don't let yourself be seen, or we'll have the RSPB and every birdwatcher in the country up here."

Ajax looked (if a bird could do so) a little insulted. "I know better than to show my ruddy plumage off everywhere," he croaked snippily. "You just concentrate on worrying about your exam scores, and I'll handle the sneaking around."

The boy groaned. "Exams! I completely forgot about them. Do you know when we'll be getting the marks?"

"I'm not a bloody calendar," Ajax said pointedly. "Using my amazing powers of prophecy - i.e, my common sense - I guess they'd probably come with the letter for next term."

He twisted his head round to pick a loose feather from his wing. "Well, I'd best be off. Have to find a nice, dry place to hide out in, y'know, since no-one wants me here. I'll see you around; you'll probably be shoved outside to do the gardening, won't you?"

Harry fixed him with a glare. "Get out then. I'll probably have to make the dinner in a moment."

"Don't forget to study Techno-Magic," the magpie said amusedly, as it turned and sauntered out the window.

The boy glared harder, and stopped once Ajax was out of sight. "Looks like it's just you and me, Hedwig," he yawned, glancing at the cooped-up bird.

"_Boy! Get down here and make your cousin his supper!_"

He raised an eyebrow at the sympathetic bird. "Then again..." he sighed, shoving himself off the stiff bed and making a half-hearted attempt to smooth his hair down before heading out into the landing.

----------

Aunt Petunia had given Harry a startled look as he appeared in the kitchen, which seemed to be the most major reaction to the dramatic changes he had undergone while at Hogwarts. Taller, better-built (and fed), glasses gone and hair looking as though it had been carefully styled to look deliberately scruffy rather than - well, looking just plain scruffy.

Uncle Vernon had merely given a disgusted snort when he had seen Harry at the train-station; probably attributing the changes to some magic - and had not mentioned it. Even Dudley, sitting at the table and looking decidedly stroppy about something barely gave Harry a second glance. This was quite unusual, as usually the Dursleys' son was only too happy to size up possible opponents and bullying targets.

"Duddy's going to have a quick supper - there's a programme he wants to watch and he's only allowed to eat at the table," Aunt Petunia snapped out briskly as she poured milk into a glass in front of 'Duddy'. "And it had better be a healthy supper, too. The dietician said -"

"She's_ not _a _dietician_!" Dudley screeched out, slamming him fork down like a four year-old, his three chins wobbling furiously. "She's an '_educational supervisor_'," he mocked, "why don't you just _admit_ it?"

Petunia froze. The milk spilled over the top of the glass, but only Harry noticed.

"Diddy-dumpkins," she cooed¸ eyes darting nervously over to Harry and back, "I thought we agreed not to use that title?"

Dudley screwed his face up and managed to spit words out. "YOU agreed. DAD agreed. I didn't. I don't care what she says, or what Smeltings says, I'm not a trouble-maker, I'm not fat, and I didn't mess up the computer system. Why won't anyone _believe me_!"

Harry pursed his lips to prevent a smirk from forming, and rifled through the kitchen cupboards. His Aunt obviously wasn't happy about her little baby's referral to an 'educational supervisor', whatever that was - probably a polite term for the professionals who turned young 'failures of the school-system' into decent members of society. She'd certainly have her work cut out with Dudley.

Oh, and of course, Harry had been the one to sabotage the Smeltings computers, and by the sound of it, Dudley was either in serious trouble or had been expelled. To be honest, he hadn't thought anything would come of it - he had thought the teachers would realise Dudley was too thick to do any more with the system than play computer games. On the other hand, they had probably been looking for a reason to get rid of him.

Behind him, Petunia murmured demands not to show himself up in front of 'the Boy' into Dudley's ear, while she mopped up the spilled milk with a paper towel. Harry didn't know what Dudley was doing because at that moment, Vernon Dursley squeezed his overlarge bulk into the kitchen and dropped himself down into one of the chairs.

"What are you making, boy?" he boomed, completely ignorant of the scene that was in its finishing stages. Harry coughed out the names of a few dishes they had the ingredients for and started preparing the meal. He didn't know what good healthy food was going to do for Dudley, if he was going to immediately waddle into the lounge and watch TV for the next few hours; he had, admittedly, lost a bit of weight since Harry saw him last, but he was still rather wider than he was tall.

----------

It turned out, however, that Dudley wasn't just going to eat healthily and spend the rest of his time slumped in front of a screen. The next day, as Uncle Vernon went out to a pub lunch with some colleagues and Aunt Petunia disappeared to some kind of women's club, both Harry and Dudley were turned out of the house to take care of the garden. Harry had a sneaky suspicion that his aunt and uncle had left solely so that they wouldn't be tempted to let Dudley goof off if he whined too much.

Whilst Harry was to manage the far end of the garden, Dudley took care of the half closest to the house; and 'woe betide either of you if your half isn't done by the time we're both home,' Vernon had snorted, moustache bristling. And then, 'Well, Dudley, at least try to get your part half-way done - since it's your first time, and all.'

Harry scoffed at the memory as he tugged up the last of the weeds from his side of the garden, and stood back to admire it. Grass? Cut to a standard length, with no bald patches. Flowers? Healthy, fertilised and watered, and sitting proudly in their beds. Bird feeder? Full with nuts and seeds. Stone path? Cleared of dirt and bird droppings. Bushes? Completely devoid of snails, slugs and herbivorous insects.

Voila!

He glanced over to Dudley's side and shook his head. The panting boy was sheltering under a tree, taking a breather. The lawn, half-mowed was a complete contrast to Harry's almost-perfect side.

"Need a hand?" Harry queried, feeling a little sorry for his tormentor. This task must have been a complete shock for Dudley; and admittedly, he could hardly be expected to finish half of the huge garden in a few hours when he had no experience and no idea what to do.

He picked up the hedge-trimmer and started clipping the particularly obvious branches on Dudley's side. "You finish off the lawn, pond and path, and I'll do the hedge and flower beds for you," he offered generously.

Dudley watched him in surprise, his breathing a little easier. "You've already done your side," he wheezed.

Harry shrugged, continuing lopping off the branches. "Yeah, well, we're locked out of the house until they come back. What am I meant to do? Sit around and look at cloud formations? Look, you're already mostly done with the lawn - just finish the last bit off, and then have another break. We've still got a good hour and a half to go."

Dudley stared a while longer, before following Harry's suggestion and starting the lawnmower up.

As Harry clipped, he listened and watched out for Ajax, but there was no appearance of the impertinent bird. Perhaps the lazy fowl was lurking in someone's rafters, or hiding in a tree; scavenging for scraps and or darting down and terrifying some poor cat out of its nine lives.

Where was Levina, as well? She had promised that Harry would make his sword in September, when he returned to Hogwarts, and he had nearly two long, _long_ months until then. Was she still at Hogwarts? Where did the teachers live during the holidays anyway - did she have her own house? Was she staying at a hotel or inn somewhere, perhaps the Leaky Cauldron?

Harry frowned. He should have asked her whether she would be in contact with him during the holidays. It was too late now (unless Ajax had some way of talking to her), but it didn't really matter. For now, all he wanted to do was carry on the pretence of a normal life and keep studying Techno-Magic and fighting - and of course, keep praying he would pass all his exams.

He knew he would, of course; how could he not, thanks to his Illusionist level, the Canusabeo potion - the results should due any day now, in fact - and the rods? It would be practically impossible for him to fail any of his OWLs, though he wasn't holding quite as much hope out for his E-Levels; no-one had been expected to pass them, anyway.

Finishing the hedge by snipping off an errant branch that poked just a few centimetres out, Harry noticed Dudley had finished mowing, and was now hosing down the path to remove the ingrained mud. It was amazing what the most unlikely of people could do if you gave them a shove in the right direction.

By the time Petunia was back, the garden was all but finished, and it was easily completed before Vernon returned. For that reason, Harry was excused chores for the rest of the day, and slipped up to his room to dig the morning issue of The Daily Prophet out from under the bed.

Most of it was filled with continuing celebrations of the '_Dark Lord's_' demise, interviews with Aurors, the Minister and the adoring public (Harry was only too happy that his address being unknown, he was spared the fan-mail), some articles on the Muggle scientific world's mystification and amazement at the recent and unexplained spontaneous eclipse, and various articles on law reforms and current Ministry projects.

The funeral for Lucius Malfoy and the other dead Death Eaters had been delayed, because the Aurors were refusing to hand over the bodies for some unknown reason. Most of the injured Death Eaters were out of St Mungos, and one of the trials had already started.

On the twenty-seventh page, a small article tucked away on the top right corner shattered Harry's happy mood.

**_Daemon and Summoner Loose In Britain?_**

_A furore at an undisclosed Ministry location has had Aurors and Unspeakables in an uproar. The reason? A Daemon-Summoner, the same who attempted to murder Harry Potter and murdered Hogwarts teacher Professor Sybil Trelawney last year, has escaped from a secure Ministry holding. _

_Worse, this shocking incident came about not through lax security or an honest security mistake, but by a break-out by the daemon that she illegally Summoned last September. _

_The daemon, which had been missing, presumed dead, rescued Miss Leone Nikastal, 15, in a violent two-hour long attack yesterday night, beginning at around eleven PM. _

_Professional daemon expert and hunter Embeller Adoric, 42, reassures us that, "This 'rescue' was not the result of an intelligent plan - daemons are cunning, certainly, but have no more intelligence than that of a wild animal, except for some mental communication with their Summoner and understanding of his or her orders. I suspect that the daemon, separated from its mistress, instinctively set out to find her, and this terrible event was its way of reaching her." _

_A terrible event indeed; though it could have been worse. Four Aurors are seriously wounded, and one Unspeakable, but the toll could have been much higher.__ All are currently in serious but stable condition at St Mungos. _

_The Ministry refused to comment, except to say they were happy that 'certain organisations' would be responsible for the capture of Miss Nikastal very soon'. They declined to give any information as to why Unspeakables are taking such a large part in the search and investigation into the occurrence..._

It continued in the same vein, reassuring readers that both would be captured soon, that there was little to no danger - but Harry knew better. Leone on the loose again was the last thing he wanted at the moment, and Levina held the Myrrh Cage.

Harry flung the paper down and opened the window a crack. No-one was around.

"Ajax!" he hissed, looking round again. "Ajax! Are you here?"

He was - Harry heard the bird's voice croaking lazily down from the roof-tiles above him. "What?"

"That bloody daemon's still on the loose, and now Leone's with it," Harry snapped. "Now get in here before someone sees me talking to myself."

The magpie snorted as he ducked down to the window-ledge and sauntered in. "_Someone's_ in a good mood. Not you, though. So what's the problem? You're protected here, aren't you?"

Harry looked at him pointedly. "Not everyone else is. Do you know where Levina is?"

Ajax shrugged. "I'm not a bloody Finder. Why?"

"She's got the Myrrh Cage," Harry sighed, falling back onto his bed and staring at the ceiling. "And let's face it, the Unspeakables didn't do a great job of getting the daemon captured last time."

"So you watch to catch it yourself?"

"Maybe not," admitted Harry. "I just want to know whether it's - well, feasible."

"Check the laptop," yawned the bird. "That tells you a bunch'a spells and stuff, doesn't it?"

Harry paused, before doing as Ajax suggested and bringing the computer onto his lap. "Good idea," he allowed as it turned on. "Okay - do you think they'll have a spell on that in the Beginner section?"

"I don't know," Ajax said, frustrated - though whether that was at Harry, or the extremely splintery windowsill the bird was standing on, Harry wasn't sure. "If it isn't, have a look back through your mind. See if it was in one of those books about daemons you read."

"It isn't in any of them," Harry scowled. "I think imprisoning spells are in the next volume." He typed a few words into the Search bar and waited for the results, before grinning up at Ajax. "There's some better spells here than imprisoning; what do you think of spells that'll channel the daemon _through_ the Myrrh Cage and back to wherever it came from? Completely banish it! There's two spells for that."

He frowned as he studied the pair. "One of them's no good; we need the Myrrh Cage in our possession. The second one's okay, though."

Ajax hopped closer. "What do you need?"

"What do _we_ need," Harry corrected. "Okay, this is all pretty specific - we need a mirror with a frame made of onyx; the name of the daemon; the name of someone who currently holds a Myrrh Cage; a bunch of other little ingredients, candles and the like - oh," he added dubiously, "and we need the blood of a Phoenix, Dementor or Lethifold."

"You can get the mirror in Diagon Alley," Ajax said promptly. "We know the names of the daemon and Levina, and you've probably got the rest of the ingredients; you can just turn into a Phoenix to get some blood."

Harry pulled a face. "Yeah, probably. Can't say I'm too happy about it, though. I've had enough my blood outside my body this year, thank you very much."

Ajax shrugged. "Well, you need the ingredients to make it work. So, I guess we're going daemon-hunting?"

"Don't be daft," Harry grinned widely, turning the screen a little so the bird could see it. "Very few people could actually _use_ this spell, thanks to their needing to know the name of the daemon, but if they did, this one would be the first choice. You don't even have to be near the daemon for it to work."

"Homing in on the daemon through its name?" Ajax elaborated, impressed. "Okay, that might work. A lot less dangerous, as well. When are you going to get the mirror?"

Harry switched the laptop off and slid it under the bed. "Sometime after my birthday, I suppose. Then I can get my books and school stuff at the same time. I doubt I'll be going to the Weasleys this year - not with Ginny..." He shrugged, wordlessly. What more needed to be said?

Hedwig hooted sleepily in her cage, and Harry yawned as well. He'd worked on about three quarters of the garden, after all, and he would probably be sent out to do more chores tomorrow.

"I wonder where Wormtail is," he said suddenly. "He wasn't with Voldemort at the Forbidden Forest - or at least, I didn't see him. Maybe he legged it?"

Ajax seemed to realise this was a rhetorical question, because he didn't volunteer an answer.

Harry frowned. "I never even gave it any thought. First there was the fight, and then all the deaths to deal with, and everything just sort of... slipped my mind. I mean, if he was caught or killed, they'd have reported it, wouldn't they? I mean, it's pretty big, a supposedly dead hero turning out to be a living Death Eater, isn't it?"

He stared harder at the whitewashed ceiling, as though it would spew the answers out at him. "I dunno. If he wasn't with Voldie, where was he? And where is he now?" He scowled. "If he's another manipulator in the Resistance, I _swear_ I'm going to give Dumbledore a good thumping..." He trailed off.

"Way to respect your elders," Ajax joked cheerfully. "Just ask - or better yet, demand to know - when you get back to Hogwarts. Why waste time with it now? The Ministry's secretly led by the Resistance, and they know Sirius is innocent, so it's not as if they're going to bother trying to capture him."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, it's a bit of a puzzler."

"What, and disappearing dragons and armour-suited mystery-men aren't?" Ajax sniped. "Come off it. Just forget all about it for now, and concentrate on praying for good exam scores."

----------

Harry was right in his prediction - he was assigned more chores the next day, and the day after, and the day after _that_ - in fact, by the end of the week, the house was about as tidy as it was possible to get; not to mention that the garden furniture had been dragged out of the Summer House and freshly painted, the garage cleared out, and several new shelves put up in Dudley's room for his latest gadgets and toys to rest on.

From eavesdropping on snippets of conversation between the other members of the household, Harry soon discovered that Dudley had not been expelled (apparently there was a 'three strikes and you're out' policy at Smeltings), but had been suspended for the beginning month of next term, probably to make sure that all his free time was spent trying to catch up on his subjects, and he had been ordered to spend a year seeing the 'educational supervisor' and wayward-student reformer, Mrs Clarkson.

This weekly meeting was kept a 'secret' from Harry, despite the fact that it was painfully obvious where Petunia's ickle Diddy-kins disappeared off to for two hours on Friday. Apparently the Dursleys didn't want him to know about it; they were too ashamed and horrified to let the 'freak-boy' know that their perfect little pumpkin had screwed up so badly.

Harry celebrated his family's beat-down by reading the most recent letters from Ron and Hermione (who were faring extremely well, considering their recent dilemmas), Sirius and Remus, and memorising several hundred pages worth of information on Basilisks from the laptop, via the Inforod.

The monthly letter from Gringotts had also arrived - including interest, he had just over nineteen and a half million pounds in the bank at the end of last month, which was nearly eight million Galleons. It would have been much more, but Harry had bought his incredible new broom several months ago for eight-hundred thousand Galleons - and he'd only flown it a few times since.

He was more interested in the letters from his friends and Godfather, though, especially the titbits of information that came with them.

'_Apparently Embeller Adoric has been signed up for Defence teacher this year, though I don't know if that's true..._' Hermione admitted.

Remus, however, hinted that; '_Dumbledore's apparently planning to hire a Vampire for the DADA position, or so Hogsmeade rumour has it..._'

Harry had no idea how both could be true - unless Adoric had been turned into a Vampire recently - so it seemed that rumours were quite widespread in the Wizarding world recently, and the idea of a cursed job had again risen to prevalence thanks to the demise of Professor Figg the previous year. (Her house had been sold, Harry had noted interestedly; it now belonged to a young couple who seemed to be quite pleased to find themselves so high on the property ladder at their age - especially with the current housing-shortage crisis.)

He was thankful that Ron had even out-and-out stated that he didn't blame anyone but Voldemort for Ginny's demise; Harry had been slightly fearful that Ron, shocked into not thinking logically, might have blamed him for his sister's death, but this apparently wasn't the case.

Hermione had received her results the morning she had written the letter to Harry, though she was too nervous to open them at the moment - Harry immediately wrote back demanding she open them at once, reassuring her that there was no reason for her to worry, and suggesting the trio meet in Diagon Alley.

The three agreed on a date - Tuesday the thirteenth of August - to meet in the Leaky Cauldron, by which time all would have received their results and decided upon the NEWTs to take over the next two years.

The next two weeks and a half were a cheery, lazy blur of unimportant events for Harry. Letters and chores, exercises and studying, 'reading' the laptop and conversations with Ajax, pondering the unresolved mysteries of the previous school year... There was no homework this year, as the teachers didn't know what the results were, or what classes the students would choose for NEWTs.

Finally however, on the thirtieth of July, Harry couldn't sleep. He would turn sixteen at midnight (another year? Wouldn't that mean another Annumagus form?) and - if the previous years' timing were anything to go by - at this time would come not only his birthday presents, but also the letters from Hogwarts.

For this reason, he couldn't have slept even if he had wanted to. The window was wide open, and he was shivering in a ratty old dressing-gown and slippers (hand-me-downs from Dudley) swearing to buy himself proper, fitting clothes in Muggle London.

Finally, his watch cheerily buzzed to let him know that midnight had arrived, and he was now a year older - and as he pressed one of the side-buttons to stop the quietly humming alarm, he managed to catch the sound of near-silent owls gliding outside the house.

The first one entered almost regally, perching grandly on his bedpost, followed by a pair of slightly less imperious owls, who decided the covers would be a better place to land. A small parade of them followed - more than Harry usually had, that was certain - but they were quiet (apart from Pigwidgeon who was still as giddily mad as ever - Harry quickly slipped his parcel off and half-tossed him out the window before he woke the Dursleys).

"All right," Harry hissed as loud as he dared, glancing about at the twelve or so birds and wondering who on Earth they were all from. "Look, just - just line up in the order you came in, all right? I'm not going to be able to write all the replies out tonight, so you'll just have to go home once I'm taken everything off you, and I'll write in the morning. Okay?"

The owls shuffled into a vague semblance of a queue, some hooting indignantly at this request, and Harry started untying the letters and packages from the birds and placing them on the bed. As he did so, the birds that he stripped of their burdens turned and beat their way to and out of the window.

When the last one had gone, Harry looked over the parcels and letters on the bed and sighed. He'd leave the Hogwarts letter and the Ministry of Magic's letter until last - the Ministry's would presumably include the results of his OWLs, and the confirmation of his coming-of-age as a Wizard.

The first thing he opened was a package, wrapped in plain brown paper. The letter was actually inside the wrapping - as well as a thick, rectangular box. He slit the envelope open, and pulled out the paper inside.

_Harry  
If you've still got the dagger I gave you as a Christmas present last year, you'll love these. They're part of a matching set, so if you could find it in your heart not to lose them, I'd be very grateful. All you have to do to recall them is hold out your hand and tell them to come.  
I'm sure you can learn how to use them, but we'll start practicing once we're back at Hogwarts.  
Happy sixteenth,  
Levina _

"Well, that's short and to the point," Harry muttered amusedly. When 'we' got back to Hogwarts? Obviously she wasn't at Hogwarts right now then, so he had no idea how to contact her. Stupid of him to send the owl away before he knew who it was from.

He hefted the box over to him - it was surprisingly light - and opened it. The first thing that he noticed was the smell of fresh, clean leather, polished to a shine. Inside the box were a pair of sheathes, each with a strap. One of them was for his forearm, another for his ankle, he saw immediately.

In each was what appeared to be a small dagger, a miniature (less bejewelled) version of the one he had already. But as he pulled the first one out and saw how long the handle was, and how strangely balanced it felt, he guessed what it was.

A throwing knife! It would take a lot of training to use these - to bring them quickly out, to aim correctly, to actually _throw_ it properly in the first place - but he didn't care. After all, learning how to wield a sword was hard work, and he had done that.

Harry put the gifts and letter to one side, and continued on to the rest. Sirius was next; he had sent a letter that was much like the ones he had been sending before, except now it congratulated him on reaching sixteen, warned him not to try Apparating before he got his license, and sounded possibly more jubilant than Harry could remember. He had also sent two books - '_Practical Geomancy_' and '_Extinct Magical Creatures_'.

Ron had sent a letter and a large box of what appeared to be an expensive stationary and writing set, filled with quills from beautiful and exotic birds, reams of paper, different-coloured inks - Harry suspected this was a hint of the awful loads of writing they were going to be doing over the next two years.

Hermione had sent (surprisingly) some Muggle novels, which looked quite interesting. There was also a textbook on physics for some reason, though Harry understood why when he read her letter, which scolded him for focusing on the Magical world and ignoring the Muggle. She had also listed her OWL scores - as Ron had also done - but Harry decided to come back to those parts after reading his own results. Hermione certainly seemed excited about hers, at least.

The rest of the Weasley family had sent the next present - a huge box filed with food. It seemed that they were listening to Ron's frequent reports though, for instead of sweets and cakes, it was filled with healthy juices and foods. Harry knew that most Wizarding food was spelled to keep it preserved and fresh, but even then he had no idea how he was meant to finish it off within even a couple of months.

Remus had sent a card, and a gift voucher for fifty Galleons to be spent in Madame Malkins' store. Hagrid had sent - probably in a nod to Harry's now (in)famous transformation - a phoenix figurine, carved out of a slick red wood that Harry didn't recognise.

There was a gift from Dumbledore as well, though he had at least had the decency not to write a letter - just a card wishing Harry a happy sixteenth. It was the first time Harry had received a present from the headmaster; the Invisibility Cloak hardly counted, as that was an heirloom. Dumbledore had sent a handheld Foe Glass; at the moment, no-one could be seen in it.

There were just four more to go now, but Harry knew who three were from. The school seal on one, the Ministry on another, and Gringotts on a third. He opened the Gringotts one, wondering what it was about; after all, he'd already received his monthly statement.

It wasn't a statement; it was a letter informing him that someone had applied to rent one of the buildings he owned; a house somewhere in London. Apparently several of the buildings were let out, but now that Harry was in charge, he would have to give his acceptance or refusal to all requests. Harry groaned in despair as he put the letter down. Well, at least he didn't have to take care of mortgages.

The next letter was the one that didn't have a seal on it. When he opened it however, he wished he still didn't know who it was from.

_Dear Mr Potter  
It is with great regret _('Could you _be_ any more sarcastic?' thought Harry) _that I write to inform you that, having reached the age of sixteen, you've been drafted. Congratulations, new member of the Resistance!  
__All seriousness aside, you are now officially old enough to join, and frankly, there was never any chance that the Phoenix was going to remain a separate entity. Sorry kiddo, you're in for life. Luckily for you, that may not be very long, knowing your little escapades.  
On the bright side, you get paid as you're technically staff. No holidays, but you do get great healthcare.  
Your first cheque's in the post.  
Lord Abyssay _

Harry wondered vaguely whether the Resistance had any computers, and decided that if they had, he was going to give them a little surprise.

For now though, these... _people_... who had decided to run his life were going to be put as far out of his mind as possible. This was his birthday, and he was damned if he wasn't going to enjoy it!

He turned to the school letter.

It was a lot longer than the years before - basically a glorified list of 'if you're taking this subject for NEWTs, you'll need these, if you're taking this subject, you'll need that. Having no idea what subjects he could take until he'd found out his scores, Harry opened the final, bulging letter. 


	2. Masquerade of the Idol

Chapter 2 » Masquerade of the Idol 

----------

_Dear Mr Potter  
There are several subjects that will be addressed here, the first of which are your actions this year. For your bravery and efforts which led to the death of Tom Marvello Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, you are to be awarded the Order of Merlin, 2nd Class. You will be presented this on Friday August 23rd, along with several others More information will be forthcoming at a later date..  
Secondly, on more generic matters. As a sixteen year old Wizard, you have now come of age. You are legally entitled to (under old laws and new):  
Use magic outside school time and areas, providing that it is not witnessed by Muggles, nor used for illegal acts;  
__Apparate, providing you receive a license to do so;  
Leave school, should you so wish;  
__Marry;  
Join the Auror Recruits or Magical Law Enforcement, providing you have the necessary qualifications;  
and also to take on employment with full adult pay.  
Finally, the question of qualifications. From the Department of Education, your exam results from last year are as such: _

_OWLs (Ordinary Wizarding Levels). With a rating of O (Outstanding; E (Exceeds Expectations); A (Acceptable); P (Poor) D (Dreadful); T (Troll). O, E and A grades are passes. _

_Exam Grade Result _

_History of Magic - O 98 (Exam taken early)  
Magical Languages - O 93 (Exam taken early)  
Astronomy - E 86  
Charms - O 100  
Care of Magical Creatures - O 93  
Defence Against the Dark Arts - O 96  
Divination - E 88  
Herbology - E 87  
Potions - O 97  
Transfiguration - O 100 _

_10 out of 10 OWLs attained _

_E-Levels (Extra-Levels). _

_Amulet Making - G3 94  
Spell Creation - G3 90  
Protective Magic - G3 92  
Protective Magic - G2 88 _

_4 out of 4 E-Levels attained _

_For NEWT level, you may take 4 or 5 subjects from the list below: _

_History of Magic  
Magical Languages  
Astronomy  
Charms  
Care of Magical Creatures  
Defence Against the Dark Arts  
Divination  
Herbology  
Potions  
Transfigurations _

_Also at Hogwarts, E-Levels will be continuing for sixth years. These include: _

**_Apparition Lessons_**_ - taught by Prof. Flitwick: 6th years and above only. Wednesday, 5-6pm. Teaches the ability to transport oneself from one place to another instantaneously. When completed, all successful applicants must obtain an Apparition License from the Ministry. _

**_Magical Healing_**_ - taught by Madam Pomfrey and Healer Moran: 4th years and above only. Thursday, 5-6pm. Covers Magical and Muggle first aid, as well as basic biology, and recognising symptoms of common illnesses. Provides the basis for Magical Healing E-Levels, though more studying is needed to gain a grade. _

**_Basic Auror Training_**_ - taught by Captains O'Keifer and Marcella: 5th years and above only. Friday, 5-7pm. Teaches basic defence, Auror methods and tactics, what to do in emergency situations, and also some basic tests such as mental and magical aptitude. Will require application and approval from Captain O'Keifer. Students who took this subject last year and also complete this year, will be able to gain a BAT E-Level Grade 3. _

_Best wishes for the future,  
Gilbert Gillyweed,  
Head of the Department of Education,  
Ministry of Magic _

Harry read through the letter again, knowing he should feel bewildered by the whole thing. The problem was, he didn't. The Order of Merlin? Well, he _had_ defeated Voldemort. The use of magic outside school? He'd known it was coming. The near-perfect scores on his OWLs? To be perfectly honest, he was nearly surprised he hadn't received Outstanding on all of them. The rods and his increased studying had certainly helped him.

The fact he had 'come of age' was also something of a surprise to him. He knew that Wizarding laws were still semi-archaic, and that adulthood came earlier in the past - but even Muggle Britain had changed enough that eighteen was the age of independence.

And he had gained a hundred percent on _two_ of his subjects! How had he got such a high score on his Divination exam, though? He had done well on the theory work, but the practical had been appalling - he hadn't seen a thing. Perhaps the examiner had a soft spot for him.

He turned back to Ron and Hermione's letters, and compared the scores.

Hermione had been put in for twelve OWLs, Harry knew, so she had more than him, though her scores weren't quite as good.

_Ancient Runes - O 94  
Arithmancy - O 91  
Astronomy - E 88  
Charms - O 97  
COMC - E 85  
DADA - O 94  
Divination - E 76  
Herbology - E 83  
HOM - O 96  
Magical Languages - E 88  
Potions - O 92  
Transfiguration - O 97  
Spell Creation - G3 89  
Protective Magic - Fail 72 _

Ron had done the usual of nine OWLs, and his scores were above average, even managing to just scrape by in Potions.

_Astronomy - E 77  
Charms - E 87  
COMC - E 84  
DADA - O 93  
Divination - E 79  
Herbology - E 74  
HOM - E 71  
Potions - A 60  
__Transfiguration - E 88  
Protective Magic - G3 80 _

It looked like the rods had helped them all - especially Harry, who had more access to it than others, and the books and information from the laptop which he couldn't share with the others.

Harry picked up the letter from Hogwarts again and looked down at the list of items he'd need. New robes, new boots, new stationery, new gloves, a new cloak; and then it was on to specific lessons. What NEWTs was he going to take? Defence Against the Dark Arts, of course, and Charms and Transfiguration - Care of Magical Creatures and Potions would probably be good as well. Apparition Lessons and Basic Auror Training would be a must.

He checked down the list of equipment to see what he would need. It was going to cost a small fortune, he knew; books and potion ingredients, special hardwearing clothes for COMC - he even needed a protective amulet for Defence lessons.

He briefly considered taking Magical Healing, then decided against it. He would have enough to deal with this year, without another class that wouldn't even give him enough background to attempt an E-Level in the subject.

Harry yawned, placing the letters and presents in one of the compartments of his trunk, and returned to bed, deciding to send the thank-you notes and NEWT choices the next day.

----------

It was on Sunday, several days after his birthday, that Harry received four more items of interest to him. The first was a letter from St Mungos, telling him that the Canusabeo Potion had passed all the tests, and had not only been deemed fit for consumption, but had successfully cured two Werewolves. There was an offer of eighty-thousand Galleons - nearly two hundred thousand pounds - for the rights to it, and though Harry knew it was worth far more than that, he replied stating that he would give it free - as long as every willing Werewolf also had it for no cost.

The second item was the Sunday Prophet, which had two articles of particular interest; firstly, that there had been no sightings of the daemon and its Summoner, and secondly, that Draco Malfoy's trial had been set for Friday the sixteenth. Harry could only hope he wasn't to be called as a witness.

The final items of interest were the replies from Gringotts and St Mungos to the letters he had sent them several days before. Mungos was only too happy to accept the offer, and had sent a contract for Harry to sign, which left Harry with ownership of Canusabeo while they had full authority over administering it.

Gringotts was simply a confirmation of Harry's decision that the apartment in London would be able to be rented for the shockingly low price of eight-hundred pounds a month. It would certainly be a nice gain for his bank account; especially as he wouldn't be paying any taxes for another two years. If he had been living in the Muggle world, using a Muggle bank, he would be taxed when he started earning a certain amount - he would be taxed right now, in fact, thanks to the amount of bank interest he was getting - but the British Wizarding laws worked differently. He wouldn't be taxed until he was eighteen and earning over seven thousand Galleons a year.

He wondered briefly how long it would take for him to become a fully-fledged and qualified ambassador. Much shorter than it would take anything else, probably, he thought gloomily - once again being the Boy-Who-Lived (and killed) made him special. Who wouldn't want a Wizarding hero as spokesperson for their country? And how could they refuse him, anyway?

----------

Harry had avoided the Dursleys for much of the holidays, even Dudley who was astonishingly well-behaved compared to the previous years. Either his educational supervisor, or Harry's help in the garden, had done him a world of good.

Now, however, he was forced to see them - he had to explain to his uncle that he was disappearing for the day to London, specifically to Diagon Alley. Harry spent a few thoughtful minutes deciding how to go about this, before deciding that perhaps he didn't _need_ to explain.

He was an adult in Wizarding law. He could use magic outside school (technically he could before, as Techno-Magic couldn't be sensed - but now he was _legally_ allowed to) and he doubted any agent of the Five was going to attack him in crowded Diagon Alley, or even in Muggle London.

And why only a day? He had shopping to do in Diagon Alley and Muggle London - there would probably be a side-trip to Nocturne Alley as well. He would do it better in two days, or even three. So, it looked like he would be staying a few days - whether in Muggle or Magical London, he didn't know - and if the Dursleys were so furious with him sneaking off that they refused to take him in again when he returned - well, who cared? He had enough money to spend a few weeks in a hotel somewhere, after all. Or of course, he may even stay in one of his own residences...

Harry finished his short letter explaining where he was going and when he expected to be back. He wasn't going to ask straight out whether he could go, or even announce it; Vernon would probably try to force him to stay, and Harry quite frankly couldn't be bothered to get into a pointless and ultimately boring row with the man.

No. He'd stay away from today, Tuesday, to Saturday. Longer, if Vernon threw a fit - and threw him out when he returned. He stuck the note to the fridge with one of the magnets, hearing the sleepy dawn chorus of birds outside. He had his wand hidden in his holster, and was taking Hedwig with him in case he wasn't returning. The trunks weight had been easily remedied with a feather-weight charm, and now the only problem was travel.

It would take him the best part of half the day to hitchhike to London (assuming anyone would want to take him, anyway), and even longer to walk it. The Knight Bus would be filled with gawping fans, and his presence announced far in advance. He couldn't fly, not in broad daylight; and he was hardly going to take Muggle trains, taxis or buses when he was carrying a cage with an owl, a long case containing a broomstick, and his trunk.

So, it looked like he was going to find out whether '_Apparition: The MOM Authorised Guide_' was really as good as it was meant to be. He'd never done it before - never even attempted it - but he knew the theory as if he had studied it his whole life; it was written on the inside of his skull, it seemed.

And of course, his first attempt would be made with an owl and luggage. Not exactly in ideal circumstances; but the Ministry wouldn't sense it if he cast a quick Techno-Magic spell to make sure they couldn't detect any magic. It would only last a few minutes, but that would be enough.

Harry took a deep breath, deciding which type of Apparition to use; there was a safer method which took a few seconds to travel by and made the traveller appear with a 'pop' or a faster method with no delay which created a 'crack' sound, but was more complicated and had a larger chance of splinching.

The safer method would be best; after all, he had all the time he wanted. "_Kalae carnaena innouit_," Harry whispered forcefully, not understanding the words, only knowing that the spell would make all magic cast in the area undetectable for six minutes. He would do this first time slowly, but even that would only take half a minute at best.

Now was the hard part. Harry pulled the luggage closer to him, causing Hedwig to give a baleful hoot, and lightly closed his eyes. Slowly, carefully, he sensed the magic inside him, and stoked it until it was actively running around his body, like a slow stream. Now, he drew it out to cover his belongings as he thought about the place he wanted to appear - in the back of The Leaky Cauldron, just in front of the wall that led into Diagon Alley.

There was no turning back on the next part, unless he wanted to be Splinched. Confident the lazy, invisible tendrils of magic were snaked around him and his property, Harry reached out to the back yard of the pub and - defining an area the same shape and size there as he wanted to move - pulled himself forwards.

Not physically; but a second later, there a was a bubbly-sounding pop as the air was displaced, and the contents of the two area were swapped, miles apart as they were. It had felt like a second, though Harry knew his body had hung in the balance for several - but he was fine, he discovered, as he looked over himself and his belongings, testing each limb.

He was in the right place, and it was empty apart from him; just the bins and their slightly foul contents. Harry juggled the cage over to a better hold, his other hand tugging the feather-light trunk and the case of Magecraft, and slipped into the pub.

There was no-one about, except for a Wizard scribbling something into a pad in the far corner of the room and frowning occasionally. An untouched mug of Butterbeer sat by his notebook.

Tom was also there, so Harry slunk over to him and nodded. "Hi, Tom."

The barkeeper and proprietor glanced up from lining the shelves with new bottles or Firewhisky and nearly had a heart attack.

"_Ha_-"

Harry darted a finger to his mouth before the customer could look up, and Tom broke off, leaning closer.

"What can I do for you, Mr Potter? A drink?" he goggled, his voice low and his eyes taking in Harry's belongings. Probably wondering how he had entered without being seen, Harry thought. He spoke before the man could voice the question.

"I'd rather have a room for the next few days, if possible," he replied quietly. "Until Saturday, at least. Is there a vacancy?"

The barkeeper bobbed his head immediately, still in admiration. "We have several - one with an en-suite is empty, I think. You can have it for five Galleons a day," he beamed, which suggested to Harry that it was usually let out for much more. But how could anyone charge the heroic Boy-Who-Lived the usual rate? Although he'd probably get it cheaper anyway - student discount.

"That's fine, thanks." Harry decided. "I don't have a lot of money on me at the moment, but I'm going to Gringotts when it opens - can I pay you then?"

"Gringotts is always open," Tom said at once. "But you're welcome to stay without charge for the moment. You must be knackered, out at this time of the morning."

Harry glanced at his watch. Just four o'clock in the morning? Most of the shops wouldn't be open for another five hours! On the other hand, he'd taken an Oxtamed earlier, and he wouldn't be tired for much longer than that.

Harry shifted his luggage. "Can I put this in the room? I'll go to Gringotts right now, as it's open."

He could simply have handed over his account key to Tom, and let him automatically charge him using that, as he had done occasionally in Hogsmeade - but Tom willingly agreed, and Harry was given a room key and shown to his rooms. It was obviously the best one; a large double bed, Wizarding Wireless, a mirror which was only too happy to spout off how wonderful his hair was looking, and an excellent view of Muggle London.

The en-suite bathroom was fully stocked with soap and other items, so Harry's first action was to brush his teeth; the Apparition had left a funny tingling in them, and the taste of the peppermint helped to detract from that somewhat.

He unlocked Hedwig's cage and opened the window in case she wanted to leave, and then put his broomstick and trunk in the cupboard for unpacking later.

"I won't be long," he promised the owl as she stared after him. "I won't have much to do, anyway; I'd be surprised if any of the shops are open."

He slipped down the stairs, gave Tom a smile, lowered his head as the other man looked up - he looked disturbingly like a reporter working on an article to Harry, who certainly didn't want someone pouncing on him - and stepped into the back-yard, tapped out the correct sequence of bricks in the wall, and stepped back into the Magical world.

Suddenly the air was so much sweeter, the sky so much more vividly blue, despite the Sun still low and drooping over the horizon. The place was still fast asleep; the shops were darkened, locked up, the streets empty but for a plump tabby-cat that dashed off from cleaning its whiskers as Harry passed.

Gringotts was just visible - an imposing sight that peeked over the roofs of several buildings, and Harry followed the wide and slightly winding street past a hundred tightly packed shops and houses, before he stood before it.

There was no-one here either, though the doors were wide open as always. Harry walked on, his shoes clacking uncomfortably loudly on the polished floors, as he approached one of the Goblins that sat behind the high desks.

It peered down at him over a pair of half-moon glasses. "Mr Potter?" it presumed in a nasal tone. "How may I be of assistance?" _At least_, Harry thought, _it's not fawning over me_.

"I'd like to withdraw some money," Harry announced briskly - but not too loudly, for the hall echoed when it was this desolate of patrons. "The Potter vault." he said, handing over the key.

The Goblin inspected it as though it were a contract, and eventually nodded. "This way, Mr Potter," it said, sliding down from the seat and beckoning Harry to one of the doors. None of the others seemed to find it particularly interesting, whether the fact that Harry Potter was here, or that anyone was making use of the establishment this early.

There was the usual ride down to the vault; Harry was glad that he didn't feel at all queasy at the end of it - but even if he had, he was sure he'd have been cured by the sight that met his eyes when the door to his vault was opened.

The ocean of Galleons, the sea of Sickles, the loch of Knuts almost completely covered the floor, but for a few square feet in front of the entrance, where the occasional coin trickled down. They had been heaped up high, into miniature mountains, glints of gold and shining silver. Even the bronze Knuts seemed brilliant in the torch-light.

The Goblin held out a pouch to Harry; black crushed velvet with a drawstring. "It has a Never-Fill charm on it," he informed Harry briskly. "It's two Sickles, if you want one."

Thankful, Harry passed over two of the silver coins and took the bag. How much did he need? Twenty Galleons for the room - more for food and drink, clothes and books, potions ingredients, rolls of parchment and normal ink rather than the fancy stuff Ron had bought for his birthday; and of course, any presents he may need to get, or anything he just happened to like the look of.

He eventually decided on two hundred Galleons, and an assortment of a few hundred Sickles and Knuts. It took a while to shovel in to the bag while the Goblin waited outside, but he didn't seem to mind; the ride up was almost pleasant, despite the bumpiness.

He spent a while outside, browsing the shop windows; he didn't want to be recognised as Harry Potter, but he didn't want to put a glamour or illusion on him in case it faded, or went wrong, or someone saw through it. He would have to buy something to disguise him. He could, of course, use the amulet that 'Voldemort' had, and that was now in his possession - but since Harry didn't particularly feel like appearing as a serpentine Dark Lord, that was out of the question.

Finally, he spotted something that would do the job perfectly. It would be too much trouble to have an object, in case it broke or he dropped it, but this was ideal; it was basically a tattoo - except, rather than just a Muggle image forced into the skin as ink on a needle, the pattern would be enchanted with a spell as it was put on. Just a small picture or pattern, that, when touched or activated, would bring the spell into effect.

It opened at seven o'clock, sooner than most of the shops, which meant Harry could slip out when there were few people about. Of course, he'd probably have to pay the tattooist to keep the work a secret, but that would be fine; he was just lucky that many Wizarding age limits were younger than Muggle ones.

He returned to The Leaky Cauldron - the journalist was gone, thankfully - paid Tom for the next two days and breakfast, and went upstairs to eat and start reading the novels Hermione had bought him.

----------

Harry left the pub at five minutes to seven on the dot, and arrived at the small store just as it opened. There was no-one on the street, except for three or four shop-keepers who opened early.

The lady who ran the tattoo parlour obviously recognised him, for she blanched as she caught sight of him. "You want a tattoo?" she asked doubtfully as he came inside. Obviously she wasn't expecting that.

"Just a small one," Harry explained. It certainly looked like a good place - clean, framed signs of the designs on the walls, even a proper cash register. Not like most Muggle tattoo parlours. "I really want the spell, not the tattoo, so I don't want it particularly noticeable."

The Witch - Mrs Hutchins as she introduced herself - brightened considerably at this. Obviously defacing the hero of the Wizarding world with a hideous facial tattoo was not in her career plans. She pushed him through to a back-room, so they wouldn't be disturbed.

"Wonderful!" she yapped, clapping her hands together. "Well, in that case, we have a number of small items to choose from - you're sixteen of course, so no problem with the age. Now, I suppose you want something tasteful - have a look at these, and consider exactly where you want it. Obviously if you want it for the spell, it'll be hard to activate if it's on your back, so I suggest somewhere on the forearm or back of the neck. Up to you, of course!"

Harry flicked through the pages of the thick folder she'd given him, filled with designs and prices. There were pictures, patterns, words; large and small, ones that looped around the arm or even circled the neck and others that only took up a certain small area.

What to choose? And where?

Perhaps something fitting - a phoenix? The Gryffindor crest? The Potter family crest - being a personalised design - would cost more. Well, he wouldn't let being the Phoenix colour all his decisions, so that was out of the question; and he didn't much feel like a Gryffindor most of the time. The Potter crest had a phoenix as well, so that was out.

Eventually, after some deliberation, Harry decided on a simple pattern; two black circles, one contained within the other. It didn't mean anything, it didn't symbolise anything - it was simply a pattern. It wasn't ugly, it wasn't beautiful. Just a meaningless image with no connotations or hidden link to him.

It would be placed on the underside of his left arm, just above the wrist. Three charms - one a strong glamour spell, one weak glamour, and one voice alteration which was joined onto the stronger glamour. The weak would cover the tattoo with the image of normal, clear skin. The stronger spell was much more important; when tapped with the forefinger of his right hand, it would change his appearance and voice.

His hair would become a light brown and a different style, his eyes a muddy brown as well; his face shape would change slightly to become more angular, and he would become slightly less well-built. There were smaller differences; his nose would seem to be slightly lower, his lips thinner, and of course, his scar would be hidden.

The final spell would change his voice; not really higher or lower, just... different. Normal, but not his own.

Three spells on one design would cost ten Galleons; though tipping was hardly customary, Harry included a 'tip' of half that amount extra, hinting of the silence he wanted surrounding his custom. Hutchins was only too happy to comply with his request.

It took an hour to create the tiny image, layered with the enchantments. Harry had to remain still and silent so as not to distract the Witch who muttered incantations under her breath as she lightly dragged what appeared to be a thin black stick over Harry's arm, tracing out the pattern. There was a huge box filled with carefully set out 'sticks' or various colours, included ones that sparkled and glittered, lit up, or even changed colour.

She was obviously an expert, considering the artistry and speed with which she managed the task, and Harry was eminently thankful, especially when she brought out a mirror and he tested the spells. A tap with the nail of his forefinger made the tattoo disappear, and another tap made it come back; a tap with the underside of the forefinger suddenly shifted him into another person, another identity, and another touch brought Harry Potter back.

He left as the other boy and with the tattoo invisible, and walked unnoticed down the street. People were just starting to venture out; there were a fair number of stores open now, though most would open at nine o'clock, in twenty minutes. Harry himself would be meeting Ron and Hermione in the evening, which gave him most of the day to do as he wished.

For the next twenty minutes, he wandered aimlessly down the street, browsing with no real purpose; he was first into Flourish and Blotts when it opened, where he bought his school books; all ten of them. He didn't know how he'd have managed if he wasn't able to charm the bags so they were light and easy to carry.

He ticked them off the school list as he selected them; '_Dark or Light? The Argument_', '_An Encyclopaedia of Wizardry_', '_A Study of Important Charms_', '_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 6)_', '_Transfigurations For N.E.W.Ts_', '_The Potent Codex_', '_Magizoology For N.E.W.Ts_', '_The Peacetime Use of Dark Arts_' and '_N.E.W.Ts: Your First Year_'. He already had '_Apparition: The MOM Authorised Guide_'.

After paying for them with Remus' voucher, Harry left the store and spent the next two hours selecting the items he would need; Potions ingredients, normal parchment and ink.

He broke for lunch back at the Leaky Cauldron, putting the books in his room (Tom reluctantly agreed to keep Harry's new appearance undisclosed), and noted that the reporter was back again.

"Working on the Malfoy trial," Tom grunted when Harry asked. "All the contacts and gossip reach Diagon Alley first, before anything happens at the Wizengamot."

Harry felt himself become interested. "Does anyone have any idea what he'll receive?"

"Probably a life-sentence in Azkaban," Tom shrugged as he wiped down the bar. "Can't have the Dementor's Kiss; he'd get that if he were eighteen. There's no way he can get off, not with all the witnesses knowing he put the Imperius on those two girls; that'd get him two life sentences at least, regardless o' the other crimes."

Harry smirked as he thought of Ginny and Hermione. Served Malfoy right.

----------

After lunch, Harry was ashamed to say, he splurged.

Not only did he buy the potion supplies, the stationery, and Hermione's birthday present - two-years subscription to 'Magic' journal, which detailed the latest news, creations and business ventures for Wizarding professionals - but he also went clothes-crazy.

He couldn't really be blamed, Harry defended himself, as he thought of what he'd had to put up with for the last fifteen years. Hand-me-downs from an oversized walrus? Yuk. Now he had the chance to get his own, fitting clothes - and though he hadn't yet ventured into Muggle London, he could happily buy some Wizarding-wear.

He bought five pairs of quality black school robes, and two pairs of casual robes; black and dark-green, respectively. Two pairs of polished black school shoes, one pair of dragonhide boots for Care of Magical Creatures - and dragonhide gloves. He also bought a pair of normal, warm, cotton gloves for the Winter.

A school scarf came next, dark green with black ends; he suspected it was usually Slytherins who bought that colour. He also picked out two black cloaks with silver fastenings; one light for the Summer months, and one heavy with a peaked and drooping hood for Winter.

Passing Madame Malkins, he realised that he was of slightly different stature and musculature from the previous year and that his dress robes were unlikely to fit him any longer. It wouldn't do to find there was another ball this year, and be stuck with dress robes two inches too short, would it?

He had a pair of dress robes off the rack and then specially adjusted, rather than tailor-made; a storm-grey material with a lighter-grey collar. There were a pair of shoes that went with it; the same dark-grey with lighter laces, so he picked those up as well.

It was when he was passing a shop which kitted out Aurors, Magical Law Enforcers, and anyone who rather enjoyed fighting, that Harry again gave in to his shopping-urges. In the window was displayed a long robe; the bottom of which repelled slightly yet unnoticeably away from the ankles, to avoid tripping over and for ease of movement, the sleeves wider at the forearm to put an arm-holster for wands up.

Even better was the material it was made of; the plain, deep black colouring hid interwoven spells and protections that were perfect defences in a fight. Why else were they called Defence-robes?

It absorbed minor curses, hexes and jinxes, and used the absorbed power to enhance its repelling of more powerful spells. It was easy and comfortable to fight in, which made it perfect for Aurors or professional Duelling Champions. It would throw out a kinetic force at anyone who came too close after a short incantation had been said to turn the spell on, and - if the wearer was powerful enough - it could even melt weapons that touched it, whether they were bullets or knives. Extra, specific spells could be added for a cost.

Harry had to have it. It was over a hundred Galleons, and a little more when Harry had some extra spells added - it would now fit him as he grew, a cleaning spell, a self-repairing spell, flame and water-resistance.

The final item Harry bought before he went to meet his friends was the mirror he needed for the daemon-banishing spell. He managed to find the perfect mirror in a small emporium of various items. An onyx frame surrounding a round mirror, two and a half feet in diameter. He had it boxed up so it wouldn't break, and returned to leave the shopping in his room.

By the time he returned downstairs, Hermione had arrived through the entrance from Muggle London, and the last of the Weasleys had just appeared via the Floo network. Mr Weasley wasn't there, but the twins and Ron were already talking with Hermione, and Percy seemed to have come instead of Arthur. Bill and Charlie were out of the country, as far as Harry knew.

Hermione and Ron didn't seem to notice him - but of course, Harry remembered a moment later, he was still under his disguise. The Leaky Cauldron was mostly empty apart from a few people drinking quietly in one of the corners, so Harry slipped over to his friends and tapped the underside of his forearm.

Hermione glanced up as she caught the movement, and her face lit up. Before she could say his name, Harry motioned her to keep quiet, and tapped his arm again to bring the disguise back. As he changed, Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise, and waved him over.

"It's Harry, under an illusion spell," he heard her whisper to the others. Mrs Weasley beamed at him even wider than the others as he joined them.

"Sorry about this," Harry said, abashed. "There's a reporter hanging about here usually, and I don't want to be mobbed."

"That's all right," Ron grinned, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. "It's good to see you, mate! How have the Muggles been?"

Harry eyed his friend a little warily. He seemed to be dealing remarkably well, considering his little sister had died just over a month ago. "They were... fine," he eventually decided. "How is everyone?"

----------

They enjoyed a leisurely meal together, though not quite as jovial as the ones they had previously shared; Harry could almost feel the weight of Ginny's death overshadowing the light-hearted conversation, though everyone skirted the issue as though it were taboo - which it certainly was.

Mr Weasley, it seemed, had been pulled in to work overtime thanks to the Malfoy Estate; Magical Law Enforcement and Aurors were practically crawling over it as they dragged vile poisons and Dark artefacts out of hidden chambers and safes. They, of course, didn't know that Lucius Malfoy had actually been a spy.

They finished eating at seven o'clock, discussing Harry's 'new look' and their classes for the year. Hermione was taking DADA, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Ancient Runes, while Ron was doing the same NEWTs as Harry, except that he was taking Herbology instead of Potions.

"We could get our things tomorrow," Hermione decided as the trio trooped upstairs to their rooms. "I'm staying in Diagon Alley until Thursday, and Ron's leaving late tomorrow. What about you, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm staying here until Saturday. Then, if the Dursleys are in such a bad mood they refuse to let me back in, I'll be staying here until term starts."

Hermione frowned as he said this, and he wondered what she was thinking.

"I've got my school stuff, anyway," Harry added. "So we can get both your things tomorrow and make the most of the day together - and the day after, Hermione."

Ron nodded eagerly, oblivious to Hermione's change of expression. "Yeah, I need to check out Quality Quidditch Supplies," he said enthusiastically. Now that Emma McPollet, the Gryffindor Keeper had left the previous year, Ron would be moving from substitute to full-time Keeper; and now that Angelina, Katie and Alicia had all left, they would have to find a new Captain and Chasers.

As Harry split off from the others to his own room, he shut the bedroom door behind him and groaned at what was sitting on the bed. "Don't even bother having a go at me," he snapped.

Ajax cocked his head. "Oh, what for? Running off and illegally Apparating out of the place you're meant to be without telling anyone - least of all _me_?"

"I knew you'd make a fuss," Harry retorted. "Look, I've got to convert some cash into Muggle currency. Could you stay here?"

"Do I have any choice?" Ajax purred frostily, sounding like a cat frozen in a bucket of ice. Or something similar.

"Not really," Harry said, looking at him pointedly. "All right, I apologise. It was a bit of a stupid thing to do, I know. It's done though, so why bother worrying about it any more?"

Ajax fluttered his wings rapidly. "Fine. I just thought you ought to know that your Aunt and Uncle have been screaming up and down the house that you're not coming back."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So? I already had a back-up plan of staying at The Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the holiday, anyway."

The bird leaned down and forwards, peering up at Harry with glinting eyes. "You misunderstand me. What I mean _is_ that they're not having you back at all. _Ever_."

He probably wasn't expecting Harry to whoop with joy. 


	3. Beyond the Mirror

Chapter 3 » Beyond the Mirror

----------

They spent the next day as planned, buying Hermione and Ron's school equipment while Fred and George wandered off to buy some essentials for their latest merchandise; Machiavellian Muffins. They were apparently doing a very good mail-order business while they saved up the last few hundred Galleons to buy a store, and it showed in the way they strutted around ticking their purchases off a shopping list in an exaggerated manner.

They joked and talked together, discussing the Malfoy trial which was occurring in two days, and NEWTs; Harry gave in to temptation and wolfed down a sundae with the pair in Florean Fortescue's; and finally they returned to The Leaky Cauldron, Ron and Hermione burdened down with school equipment and Harry effortlessly clasping a small packet of Floo Powder, which he intended to keep for emergencies. It had been surprisingly cheap.

The Weasleys left late in the evening, Ron promising to meet his friends at the station, and Harry and Hermione were left in Diagon Alley. Harry wasn't entirely happy with the arrangement - what was he meant to say to her, after last year? It was different than writing letters - but he could hardly ask her to leave, and she was his friend, anyway.

For that reason, he spent the next day with her, pretending the last week of school had never happened and that Ginny wasn't (dead) gone.

He felt guilty though, after she had left; not because of anything that he'd done while she was there, but because when she had exited into the Muggle world to be collected by her parents, he had felt as if a sudden weight had been yanked from his shoulders. An overwhelming warmth and relief had overpowered him, his energy suddenly springing back to the fore and - though the next day was decidedly overcast - he still felt considerably bright and chirpy.

There was another letter from Gringotts, informing Harry that while they had been sorting out the paperwork of the London house he would be renting out, they had discovered that money from renting out several other houses of his had been sent to a separate vault until the inheritor had taken responsibility for his property. Harry dashed out a reply to them, asking them to put the money in his main bank account, and to continue to do so, gave it to Hedwig, and then dashed out before even the Daily Prophet arrived.

Partly because he wanted some Muggle clothes, partly because he wanted to avoid the early crowds in Diagon Alley, who were nattering away discussing the Malfoy trial that day, Harry left The Leaky Cauldron by the door that he hadn't used yet during these holidays - the door into Muggle London.

The sky was a grim, despairing grey, and there was a nasty, biting chill that tried to gnaw its way into Harry's bones; he wrapped Dudley's old coat around him a little tighter and scowled at how cold it was for this time of the year. A new coat was definitely going on his list.

Luckily, The Leaky Cauldron was placed perfectly for Muggle shopping; designer and high-street stores intermingled in this area, selling everything from clothes and electrical goods, to entertainment and food. Harry had already changed a good amount of Wizarding money to Muggle, though he had no idea what Muggle clothes cost. Instead, as he dodged the already-growing crowds of tourists and employees on their way to work, he picked a random store that looked as if it had good quality casual clothes and slipped inside.

----------

The day, needless to say, went well. Several Muggle tops, trousers, jackets (and trainers) later, Harry moved on to some luxuries: he picked out two coats, because he couldn't help himself; a long Winter one, and one made of dark brown leather - he wouldn't have bought it if it hadn't been on sale, he told himself - a cap to hide his scar if he wanted to go out as Harry minus the scar, and a more mature, steel watch which he could sometimes wear instead of his magical one. He picked up some batteries for it, as well, as they were simple enough to work in Hogwarts.

As he wandered the immediate area, surreptitiously shrinking and lightening the bags one by one when no-one was looking, so that he could carry them with no trouble, Harry found himself down a road that looked astonishingly familiar, and he knew why.

_Toriceso Books_ was situated in almost the centre of the row of shops, still looking old and musty, though the bottle-green paint had been freshened up somewhat since Harry had last been here. The wooden sign was exactly the same (if a little more dusty), the name even now written in curvy, loopy writing that rendered the writing indecipherable to the quick-moving eye.

For old times sake, in memory of how Techno-Magic had changed his life - and saved it, too - Harry found himself pushing the old door open, hearing the old creak of the hinges, and the old jangling of the bell enthusiastically announcing its visitor. The old books, the old shelves, the old carpeting and old darkness; everything was the same, but for a newer-looking book here and there -

And the man behind the counter.

Harry paused, then - as the man looked up questioningly, scowling at this interruption of his reading the newspaper - stepped over to the teak counter. "Excuse me," he coughed, a little unsure of what to say. "Is Mrs Rowles around?"

The man scowled deeper. "'Oo yeh whant?" he wheezed, despite being only middle-aged.

"Mrs Rowles," Harry repeated. "She owns the shop?"

The man spluttered out a gasping breath of dust, which seemed to be attracted to him like fireflies to a lamp. Perhaps he hadn't moved in a while. "Dunno no Missus Rowl-ers," he rasped, eyes returning to his paper. "I own this 'ere shop, 'ave dun fer free yehrs. 'Oo buyin' enyfin'?"

Harry took a few moments to translate the man's words before he understood what had been said; that he knew no Mrs Rowles, and he was the owner of the shop; had been so for three years.

Now Harry frowned. "That can't be right. I was in here last year, and Mrs Rowles was the owner then."

The man rolled his eyes, shook the paper to stop it flopping over. "Look, mate, I own this 'ere shop, an' I bloody well set i' up. When'd yeh come?"

"July last year - late July," Harry remembered.

"Definitely not," the man (owner?) scoffed, shaking his head slowly. "Closed for repairs then. Needed the roof doin' yeh know? All the tiles weh comin' off. Needed tah get 'em stuck on good an' proper. Closed fer a month, I recall - cost me a fortune." He then turned all his attention back to the racing odds as though the matter was closed.

Harry was a little dazed by trying to keep up with what had been said, but he knew something was wrong. Firstly, the shop hadn't been closed when he had visited, that he was certain of. Secondly, it had been owned by Mrs Rowles, she had set it up - not this man, who said he had never even heard of her.

"Sorry - wrong shop," Harry muttered, and fled the building.

Where was Mrs Rowles? It didn't make any sense - Ron had seen her too, Harry had bought the laptop from her in its attractive box; and besides, the Dursleys had had her over for dinner with her husband. She had talked about the shop then!

What was going on? Was it some kind of joke? Had Mrs Rowles sold the shop, and for some reason the new owner was trying to make it appear as if he had set it up? _Why_?

But then Harry paused. Rowles (if that _was _her name) hadn't expected Ron to enter, anyway; the reason Harry had gone in was because she had mentioned the shop at dinner. And what were the chances that in all of London, Harry would happen to pass _that_ shop - and even _notice_ it! It was hardly large or eye-catching, after all.

There was something decidedly fishy going on here. The Rowles had never come round the house again afterwards, and indeed, the Dursleys had lost contact with them just a month after having them visit. It was almost as if...

No. That was stupid. Wasn't it?  
Harry frowned and considered the idea some more. It was as _if_ they had specifically wanted to get Harry into the shop somehow, unsuspicious - for what reason? She hadn't hurt him in any way, nor threatened him; the only thing that came of their meeting was the laptop.

But didn't Techno-Magic choose who wielded it? Harry tried to get some order in his mind. So what? Were they working for someone? Were they androids like Levina, or some kind of... manifestation... of Techno-Magic?

He groaned, and set off back to The Leaky Cauldron, deciding he didn't want to stand around on the street any more, before he was mugged. Okay - so let's say that whoever she was, she had got in contact with Harry so that he would become a Techno-Mage. Why? And if so, why wouldn't Levina tell him - unless of course the reason that she never told him anything was because she got a kick out of it. Harry would personally prefer the idea of kicking her if she knew why, but that wasn't important at the moment.

He dragged himself up the stairs to his room, having entered The Leaky Cauldron barely realising it; the Daily Prophet had come, so he flicked through. The headlines were full of the usual; Draco Malfoy's trial (which should be going on right now, actually), some scandal in the Ministry, a celebrity's tour of Britain; nothing spectacular. No sightings of Syneeta or Leone, no attacks by Dark Wizards, no more physically-impossibly spur-of-the-moment eclipses.

Harry sighed and fell backwards onto the bed, wondering whether Dumbledore knew yet that Harry had made his way to Diagon Alley. probably so; and if he hadn't, than the Weasleys would surely have told him by now.

He'd have to perform the spell soon, he decided; the sooner Syneeta was off wherever she - _it_ - had come from, the sooner he could stop worrying about daemon attacks whenever he picked up the newspaper.

----------

As it turned out though, 'soon' meant just six days. It was the night of Thursday the twenty-second when the time was right for the spell, the Moon perfectly full. Harry set up the floor of the room as the instructions said, candles, herbs, twine and all - in the centre of the design was the onyx-framed mirror (which Harry had set atop his school-trunk, so it was the perfect height to kneel comfortably).

He had already memorised the incantation with he help of the laptop, reckoning the spell would take perhaps six or seven minutes to perform before - poof! no daemon!

Unwilling to disturb any of the other rooms' occupants or to bring an enquiring Tom upstairs, Harry started muttering the invocation as quietly as he could, shivering slightly in the cold. As he did so, he dribbled oil made from crushed lilacs along the mirror frame, focusing on their banishing powers while keeping his eyes fixed on his reflection.

The words kept coming out of him; Levina's name as the owner of the Myrrh Cage, and Syneeta's as the daemon; the Ancient Greek pouring out of his mouth the second his mind told him to cast the spell.

Frankincense and sandalwood next , rubbed into the mirror - and was it him, or was the glass turning a dull, misty black? - and the words kept coming, coming, he only understood a few, but it didn't matter, it would work anyway - and yes! the glass was frosting over with black ice, black as the onyx frame, creeping out and covering his reflection - and he had just two minutes worth of the spell to go now, just words and there was no chance that anything could go wrong -

_Oh bugger_, Harry thought as Ajax swept in through the window without a care in the world and then spotted Harry casting, tried to stop, and ended up slamming into the mirror -

_Why'd I have to think that?_

Harry had all the time in the world to think, and none to react in. He watched, seeing everything in excruciating detail, as Ajax's body slammed into the side of the mirror, shoving it slightly, and as it slipped, _slipped_, so slowly and so quickly over the edge of the trunk -

As it tumbled lightly, gracefully through the tiny drop to the floor, spinning once, twice in the air -

And as the mirror hit the thick carpet, well, it couldn't break could it? It hadn't dropped far, and the floor was soft, and the frame would take the damage -

Except that it didn't.

Because, an eternity of an instant after Ajax had performed his clumsy stunt, the moment at which the mirror landed noiselessly on the warm floor, the spell was broken. Harry's chanting had stopped, and - perhaps it was Ajax hitting it, or perhaps when it had fallen or spun or hit the floor, or a mixture of all of them - the midnight frosting that had coated the glass like ice in the Arctic cracked - deeply, in three places, jagged lines running out from the frame to the centre in a way that _had_ to be _impossible_...

But the deed was done; and as Harry could finally move again, he pounced forwards to grab the mirror. There was nothing he could do of course, to stop the splitting of the thick coating, or to prevent its sudden _shifting_, like watery ripples running out from the centre...

Harry turned to Ajax to ask what was happening, even though he knew he should be running as far and fast as he could, just as Ajax was doing right now - dragging his wings out and heading straight for the window, saving his own feathers; but why bother? It was too late, and Harry knew that by the prickly, heated sensation that washed over him, tugging all over his body the same way a Portkey tugged at his navel.

The spell had gone seriously wrong. Something seriously bad was happening.

And it was all that bloody bird's fault.

Harry was spared any attempt to follow the Ajax and show him exactly what he thought of him, because two seconds later, he was no longer in The Leaky Cauldron. In fact, there was a nice neat circle three feet in radius around where the mirror had fallen, where there was now only thin air.

Ajax finally pulled his head out from under his wing and sneaked a glance in the direction of Harry's latest mishap, said an extremely rude word, and continued to the window as fast as his wings could carry him.

----------

It was just over sixty-eight miles away that someone - or some_thing_ - experienced exactly what Harry did, at exactly the same time as him.

Leone, who had moved back as soon as her daemon let out a shriek of panic, now stood staring at the spot where her pet had clawed at the air in fury and - vanished.

She stood just a few seconds before wetting her suddenly dry lips and narrowing her eyes. _Something_ had just happened, and _something_ had to be done.

----------

_Harry felt his body burn with a ripple of cold that swept from his chest outwards. There was nothing around him - just the intense, unnoticeable black that one saw behind the eyelids. A dull roar in his ears was the only thing he sensed, and strange shivers up his spine, though that may have been from the cold. _

_Time passed. _

_He drifted, oblivious to everything except the aching cold, the muffled sound and his own occasional lazy thoughts which tended along the lines of wondering detachedly where he was, as though it were a vaguely interesting question. _

_Beyond the roar, there came intermittent sounds; someone's voice? and then - another? and now - someone was calling? Calling his name? A man, speaking softly ('Harry! Harry Potter!') and a woman's pleading sobs ('No! I don't want - I don't - please! I don't want to l -') and suddenly _

Harry's eyes snapped open.

There was someone leaning over him, face obscured by the shadow. As Harry squinted up in bewilderment, the face moved back, and a white-hot Sun took its place.

Harry's eyes snapped shut. His hands instinctively leapt to cover them. "Shit!" he hissed, white dots dancing before his eyes. Someone laughed quietly. "Funny for you," Harry snarked, "_You're_ not bloody blind."

"You get used to it," the voice assured him. "And you won't have to put up with it much longer, anyway." The voice was male, adult and cheerful. Had he heard it somewhere before? He couldn't remember, could barely think about it - he was still a little chilly, though he was being warmed (and blinded) by the Sun, and his head was spinning and-

Wait - white-hot Sun?

Harry peeked through his fingers.

The Sun was unusually white.

And slightly larger - closer? - than usual.

He closed his eyes, counted to three, and opened them again.

It was still the same.

He thought for a moment. "That's not my Sun," he announced.

"Nope," the voice merrily agreed.

Deciding that staring at such a close, bright, _non-Earthly_ Sun was doing nothing for his eyes, Harry took a breath and dragged himself forwards until he was sitting down. He was most definitely not in The Leaky Cauldron anymore - and he was damned if he was going to make a Wizard of Oz reference at a time like this.

He was in the middle of a long, rolling plain. That wouldn't be so bad - he could just have accidentally Apparated, perhaps - except for the fact that the grass was a lacklustre dust-grey, which was certainly _not_ a natural colour for grass - at home, anyway.

Harry swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

"Where am I?" he gulped, eyes fixed firmly on the horizon of the never-ending grasslands.

The man behind him scoffed. "Come on, kid! Haven't you ever played guessing games before?"

Gritting his teeth, Harry forced back the impulse to jump up, swing around and punch the man's lights out. "Yes. I don't, however, think this is a situation where playing games would be a good option. _Where. Am. I_?"

"The First Sanctum of the Realm of the Dead. Note the many capitals, if you please. It doesn't do you any good to disrespect Elysium."

Harry heard it, but he didn't really take it in, because he'd just realised where he remembered the voice from.

"I'm going to turn around," he heard himself say, "and you're _not_ going to be Tom Riddle. Okay?"

"I'll try," Riddle promised, "but it'll be damn hard."

----------

After Harry had turned around, gave a furious, frustrated yell and demanded answers, Riddle was only too happy to acquiesce. Harry, he explained, had been unconscious while he Shifted (travelled between Realms, he clarified), which had meant Harry nearly ended up in the Shifting-version of being Splinched.

He had woken Harry up - _which you should be grateful for, if you didn't want to be scattered across a few dozen Realms!_ - because...

Well, he had admitted, that was a little harder to explain.

"You see," he mused as Harry watched on emotionlessly, arms crossed. "This is the First Sanctum; which means it's the place between the First and Second Gates -"

"Gates?" Harry frowned. "I read something about those somewhere. What are they?"

Tom shrugged. "Okay. I guess I'll have to go into a bit more detail. Basically, this is the Realm of the Dead, officially known as Elysium, okay? Anyone snuffs it, their soul or whatever ends up here. Okay? Good. Well, this Realm is divided into ten sections, which are called Sanctums. Between each Sanctum is a Gate, which acts like a barrier; not a physical barrier, a metaphorical one. So between the Realm you come from and this Realm is the First Gate."

"And you can only pass through the First Gate if you're dead?" Harry deduced.

"Got it," Tom grinned. "Anyway, you die, you pass through the First Gate easily enough, and you're in the First Sanctum. That's where we are, by the way. Between here and the Second Sanctum is the Second Gate; easy enough?"

"Pretty much," Harry admitted. "Why are they divided up?"

Tom shrugged again. It seemed to be his favourite motion. "I don't know why it was made like this - if it _was_ made in the first place. What I _do_ know is that everyone who dies ends up in the First Sanctum. From then on, it's a sort of journey - you find your way past all the Gates and through all the Sanctums until you finally reach the Ninth Gate."

"And then?"

"And then - nothing. No-one ever comes back. No-one knows what goes on at the other side, except the gods - and they aren't saying. Reincarnation, Heaven, Hell, something else; I have no idea. That's the big mystery about Elysium. Even in the Realm of the Dead, no-one's entirely sure what happens in the eternity after you die! Some can't cope with that - they stay on in one of the Sanctums, never go beyond the Ninth Gate. Their choice."

Harry puzzled over this for a second. "Wait - if the Ninth Gate leads on to the Ninth Sanctum; whatever that might be - what about the Tenth Gate and Sanctum?"

Tom's face dropped. "Yeah, that..." he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Okay... this is a bit weird. The Tenth Gate is accessed from the Eighth Sanctum, just like the Ninth Gate. Except only daemons pass through it; the Tenth Sanctum is where all the daemons are imprisoned, where they're Summoned from, banished to... it's their home. And it's also completely off-limits to everyone; not that you'd want to go there, anyway."

"Damn right," Harry shuddered. Syneeta was bad enough - at least he'd banished her to that place; if the ritual had worked, of course. Well, it wasn't the time to worry about that, anyway. Mainly, he should be worrying about -

"_Oh holy,_" said Harry, followed by a highly offensive word pertaining to certain acts of the Human body. And no, I'm not saying which one. His face bleached of colour, his breath suddenly short, he barked out; "Do you mean I'm _dead_?"

The man gave a snort. "Don't be daft. You think I'd have been sent to meet you if you were just another lost soul?" He thumped his chest. "Me? I have a divine job to do, here. Get you safely back to your own Realm, where you belong. That little ritual you cooked up decided to pull you along in the backlash - serves you right for not setting up wards to stop any interruptions, if you ask me."

Harry scowled. "Yeah, well, no-one _is_ asking you." He pulled his jacket closer about him. "My trunk's here?" he noted, eyebrows rising in surprise. Tom tilted his head towards it.

"Yeah. Not much good to you here, though. Best option would just be to shrink it and carry it back with you. It must have got caught in the backlash with you." Tom reached lazily into one of his robe pockets, and brought out a small, perfectly-formed diamond. "You're lucky the spell wasn't powerful enough to take you all the way to the Tenth Sanctum; there's no way I'd have gone to look for you there."

"Thanks," Harry snarked, drawing his wand and shrinking his trunk with a flick. "SO, who sent you? And where are we meant to go?"

"We're going to the Eighth Sanctum," Tom explained readily. "The people who sent me will give you a shove through the Ninth Gate - that'll put you 'where you belong', and being alive means that it'll stick you back in your own Realm. Nice and quickly as well; they don't want living people messing around in Elysium. As for who sent me - well, I just hope you're not an atheist."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Wait - _divine_ mission?" he said, recalling Tom's earlier words. "_Atheist_?" He swore again, a word Mrs Weasley probably didn't even think he knew. "Are you telling me I'm being sent home on the orders of a _god_?"

"A god _and_ a goddess," he corrected smoothly. "Who'd you think would rule the afterlife? But yeah, close enough. Are you ready to move? It's just that their castle is in the Eighth Sanctum, and unless you want to walk, I can get us there pretty quickly." He tapped the diamond. "Ready?" he asked again.

The boy grabbed the shrunken trunk and slipped it in his pocket. "Right. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get some proper explanations."

"And get home," added Tom jauntily. "Right, then - touch the diamond and we'll be there in a jiffy."

Harry took a final look around, imprinting the scene on his memory, before reaching out to touch the jewel that his old enemy held out. As he did so, the inside of the diamond lit up slightly with a pale blue glow - Harry felt a sudden lightness - and then a quivery, slithery motion over his body - and then, for the second time in the day, he was gone.

----------

This was turning out to be a relatively unusual day; slightly above average on the weirdness meter. And when you consider that Harry was so used to incredible revelations that he usually took them as a matter of fact within mere minutes, this was quite a big thing.

It went as far as to mildly startle Harry that he was now standing not in a widely-spanning field of grey grass, but in a majestic hallway, elaborate and elegant, yet over-powering in its grandeur and opulence. He could certainly believe this was the home of a god.

The room stretched on for a long way; Harry noted the towering double-doors on one side of the room and their huge windows; and on the other three sides, the tens of closed doors that (presumably) led off into other rooms and corridors. A breath-taking set of stairs rose up onto the overhanging floor; over the balustrades Harry could just make out further doors.

He settled on a simple "Wow," to sum up his feelings, while Tom just looked incredibly smug.

"Third time I've been here," he confided in Harry, leading him to one of the impressive doors. "And not many people get to come even the _one_ time. Remember this!"

"I will," Harry promised, staring at the colossal chandelier that seemed to drip with rubies, carrying on the theme of the room - shades of red, from pale cherry to rich russets.

Tom pushed the door open, and Harry followed him down a long, brightly-lit corridor, their feet sinking deeply and silently into the thick carpet. "This," Tom announced, waving a hand around like a tour guide, "is the castle of the gods and goddesses. Very few actually live here, though - most have their own homes or even entire Realms. There's only a few actual residents; Naoze, Aisiivou and Ginyama."

Harry blinked twice. "_Who_?"

Tom elucidated clearly. "_Nyowzeh_ - he's the most powerful of the gods. He's the god of psychics, prophecy and spirits - he also has the power to kill or resurrect anyone he chooses, though he doesn't do that very often. _Essahvow_ is his wife. She's more powerful than her husband, actually - she's the goddess of death, magic, and of this realm; as well as having a hand in wisdom, visions and guidance. All the gods and goddesses are related to them in some way.

"_Ginyahma_ is one of their grandsons - the god of hopes, dreams, ambitions; humour, encouragement, wit and want." He pushed another door open and led Harry down a winding side-corridor and up a back flight of stairs. "Very few of the gods actually have power over a single thing; the further down the generations go, the more focused their reign becomes. The elder gods are the strongest and most versatile."

"And they sent you to find me because people aren't meant to be here?"

Tom shrugged. "Living people, anyway."

Now they stood outside another door, one with a large silver knocker in the shape of a snake's head attached. "Naoze and his wife are inside. They'll answer your questions or just send you home - just don't piss them off."

Harry froze. "I'm - going to meet them?" he gasped.

Tom cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "Well, I suppose they can't just shove you through the Ninth Gate without meeting the first living person up here in millennia, can they?" And with that, he grasped the knocker and firmly banged it thrice against the door. 


	4. Resolve of Fortitude

Chapter 4 » Resolve of Fortitude

----------

Without waiting for an answer, Tom shoved the door open, stepped out of the way and motioned for Harry to enter. The boy glared at his former enemy and took a deep breath. Then he pushed a stray hair out of his eye, squared his shoulders back and went in.

It was just as beautiful as the hallways they had walked through, yet somehow more light and comforting; the reds were toned down somewhat, and it was less elaborate. Obviously a room more for functions than show.

Harry didn't really care to view his surroundings, however, because he was standing in the presence of a pair of deities.

One, a woman - Aisiivou, he supposed - was standing, watching something through a window. Seated in a high-backed chair of dark wood was a man, who Harry took to be Naoze. They looked - normal, really. They appeared to be in their early-fifties, hints of grey running through their dark hair; just average-looking people in robes that wouldn't have stood out at a high-ranking Wizard's ball.

The only thing that told Harry who they were was their power. It was obvious they were controlling it, stopping it from overwhelming everyone; but this close, he could almost see it running around them, like an aura of sapphire-blue. It seemed to fairly hum in the still air.

The man looked up as Harry entered, though Aisiivou still watched dreamily out of the window. A smile appeared on his weathered face. "Harry Potter."

Harry gave a nod, suddenly aware of how awkward he felt, how out of place. Naoze seemed to sense this, for he stood up and looked over to the door. "Stop eavesdropping and come in, Riddle. You'll need to be here for this."

As soon as the other man had stepped in, looking perfectly innocent (Harry was reminded of a certain Shakespearian quote he had read in Muggle junior school), Naoze turned back to Harry, watching him carefully as though memorising him, judging him - which he probably was. Harry wondered whether he could see into his mind, and decided he probably could - as he was the god of psychics, after all. He kept his mind blank.

"Harry Potter," the god repeated, nodding as though he approved of him. "I suppose you're wondering why I've requested you come here, rather than pass straight through the Ninth Gate?"

Harry hesitated, unsure of what to say or do, and decided on giving a slight nod. "I was... a little uncertain."

"This is the first time a living person has entered Elysium in over nine thousand years," Naoze smiled warmly, "which makes this an event to remember in itself. But I'm afraid there are two other reasons - one which directly concerns you, and another that you may have some interest in.

"The first is that of the daemon you attempted to banish to the Tenth Sanctum." He sighed. "I'm afraid some of the power used in that spell was used to bring _you_ to Elysium by accident - there wasn't enough to send the daemon all the way through the Tenth Gate."

Harry's eyes widened. "You mean Syneeta is _still_ in my Realm?"

"It's not quite that bad," corrected Naoze. "Syneeta is somewhere in or between the Third and Eighth Sanctums - and likely to be causing utter chaos as she tries to find her way back to her mistress in your Realm."

"But she can't get back, can she?"

He shook his head. "No; but I'm not content to allow her free reign of my Realm, either. The souls here have enough to worry about, getting to their final destination, without being attacked by a beast that shouldn't exist here in the first place." He frowned at Harry. "I understand that this was not your intention, to release her to this Realm; but you have done so, and I must request that you either destroy her or send her beyond the Tenth Gate."

"Er... no offence," said Harry, before he could stop himself, realising it wasn't as much a request as an order, "but being the most powerful god... why -"

Naoze gave a small laugh. "I won't take action in this matter," he explained, "because you have caused this mishap, and you must fix it. My method of ruling is to analyse the problem and find a way to solve it; you may ask why I simply do not destroy all daemons, or send people on to their final place without passing through so many Gates -"

"The ways of gods are strange, and not for us mere mortals to question," Riddle mocked, smirking. Harry, shocked that this recently dead man was speaking so impudently, could only stare incredulously.

Naoze seemed only amused. "I have my reasons, which I do not care to explain at the moment... only to say that one of my wife's visions has revealed that your mistake may have great implications - good or bad, depending on your actions, or lack thereof. I suggest you take a hand in eliminating her, or certain terribly consequences could occur. I'm afraid that I cannot elaborate any further. Will you do so?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it. How was he meant to refuse a god? This wasn't a request, or even an order from someone trying to manipulate him; as much as he hated it, it _was_ his fault. He had attempted a complicated spell without the necessary precautions, and anything that occurred because of the daemon would be his fault - and he doubted the man was lying about the important of his actions.

"All right," he agreed, as if there could be any other answer. "I'll track her down and stop her, one way or the other. What was the other reason you had to talk to me?"

Naoze tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I would not mention this if you were not going to be here a while longer... and it is quite complicated to explain. You are aware that each god and goddess has two objects which are blessed with divine powers in some way?"

Harry vaguely recalled reading this on the laptop, so he nodded.

"We are given these at our birth," the god described, "and we have them our whole - immortal - lives. They almost become an extension of ourselves. However, they all have one weakness, despite their power. You see, they cannot be affected by anything."

Harry waited for him to clarify, and frowned when nothing came. "What do you mean?"

"I mean precisely that," Naoze said. "We cannot change them, we have no hand in deciding what they will be or what they do; we cannot alter or damage them in any way, for better or worse. They cannot be damaged naturally, accidentally or deliberately by anyone or anything. We cannot use magic even to lift them, and any spell on them is harmless."

"So what's the problem?"

Naoze sighed. "Normally, there is none. However, one of the things we cannot do is _sense_ them. Usually we keep them close to hand, or well-guarded - but now one of the divine relics - one of _my_ relics - is missing, and we have reason to believe it has been stolen."

Even Tom looked appalled at this news - in fact, he looked terrified, which made Harry guess that this was a lot more serious than it sounded.

Naoze seemed to realise this, because he elaborated further. "The relics are powerful items - if they can withstand everything a _god_ can throw at them and more, you must be able to see that. One of my relics is safe; the Horn of Plenty. The relic that has been stolen is the Soul Scythe, the most powerful of the two - and it could cause destruction beyond human imagination."

"What can it do?" Harry demanded. The god looked deadly serious now; even tired, worried.

"It appears to be a normal scythe, except for the aura of power it exudes. One touch with the blade can kill any being, as long it is possible for it to die. _Any_ being; Muggle, Wizard, even demi-god. A touch with the other end of the scythe can bring any being back to life, fully healthy; no matter how long they have been dead, how they died, they can return. It can even return souls that have passed into the Ninth Sanctum - which is otherwise impossible. Do you realise what catastrophe it could inflict in the wrong hands?"

Harry breathed out slowly. He understood perfectly. By imagining it in the hands of 'Voldemort', or Leone or the Dark - they could defeat anyone they cared to, bring back their allies... and all with a single touch.

"Why are you telling me?" he asked, worried. "Is there some kind of link to me?"

The god shook his head. "None that I know of. As I said, no-one can sense or detect the Scythe; we don't know who has it or why... but we do know they were willing to slaughter the guard of Elemental Beasts that protected it, and before they could even get an alarm out.

"Who ever did this was powerful and dangerous; and I doubt it was anyone decent. For this reason, I will be announcing its theft tomorrow, and offering a reward for its return, or information leading to its recovery. I thought that - if you should come across any information about it while you seek out the daemon - you may be interested in the reward I offer."

"What is it?"

"A life. If I retrieve my Scythe because of your actions, you may choose any person - even someone beyond the Ninth Gate - to return to life. As someone who has lost so many, I'm sure you can appreciate the value of that."

----------

As Tom closed the door behind them, Harry finally broke his thoughtful silence to speak. "Was he... hinting that I should be looking for the Scythe?"

Tom shrugged. "How should I know?" he said helpfully.

Harry glared suspiciously at him. "You don't turn into a magpie every now and then, do you? Because you really remind me of someone I know..."

Tom grinned. "Stop whinging. You're getting the wonderful gift of my company for the next - well, however long you take to get rid of the daemon. That's as good a reason as any to be cheerful!"

Harry groaned. "That's _good_ news? I don't know why Naoze ordered you to be my guide - I'm sure I could find my way around without you."

"Not everyone here is helpful, Harry," Tom warned seriously. "They haven't sorted out the good from the bad, here, and some people will be only too happy to test whether a living person can die in Elysium. I can help you cross through the Gates and steer you through the Realms as quickly as possible."

The boy sighed loudly. "I know. It's just... well, you were my enemy for all those years, and now you look and act completely differently. And why were you so upfront and rude to Naoze? How do you know so much when you've only been dead a couple of weeks?"

"I was mildly insulting to the old git," Tom announced, "because I'm family." At Harry's stare, he smirked wider. "That's right. Very far, none of the blood left, but still directly descended. Over five-thousand generations. Pretty old, isn't he?"

Harry snorted. "So what, you have a lot of family knowledge passed down about all this 'being dead' stuff?"

"Oh no," Tom added, "I had no idea until I got here. But - well, being family, I was pretty much rushed through to the Eighth Sanctum and given a crash course in a lot of this stuff; I didn't want to go on the Ninth Sanctum just yet."

"So this is mostly new to you?"

"Yes," admitted the man, losing face slightly. "But I was always a fast learner and had a good memory - military training and all, you know - and I've got a few maps, as well."

There was a pause. "Maps?" Harry repeated. "You've been chosen as my guide - rather than a long dead person, or one of their Elemental Beasts, whatever they are... because you have maps."

Another long pause. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Great," said Harry. "And where are we right now?"

"Er - hold on..." He scrambled in his pockets and came out with Harry's shrunken trunk and a small leather bag. "Here, you take your trunk... right, the maps are in the bag. Got a Never-Fill charm on it," he said helpfully. "It's somewhere - no, that's not - wait - yeah - oh, I wondered where that had gone... yeah, got it."

He managed to yank a tightly bound scroll out of the pocket sized pouch. Harry secretly thought it was a little like when he and Dudley had watched that Muggle film as young children - Mary Poppins impossibly pulling a coat stand out of her bag.

"Okay. We're here, see?" He unrolled the parchment and showed it to Harry. "The entire Eighth Sanctum is one huge 'continent'. You can actually fall off the edge if you go far enough. Apparently you fall forever, but that could be just a rumour..." he trailed off at the look on Harry's face. "Right, sorry. Anyway, Naoze and Aisiivou have built this castle smack-bang in the middle of the Realm. That means we can pretty much head off in any direction and hope we spot that bloody daemon."

"And the nearest settlement is here?" Harry asked, pointing to a small mark.

"That's it. There's a lot of land outside the castle... there's no actual walls, but there's a sort of unvoiced rule of how close people get before the guards stop them. About two miles away, there's a little town of people who've settled here rather than go past the Ninth Gate, and we can see what we find there."

"All right - we'll start off with that. Hopefully we'll be done in a couple of weeks." He frowned. "Damn... I was meant to get another letter sometime soon, telling me to when and where to go in a couple of days... I was meant to be awarded an Order of Merlin."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "For getting rid of me, I assume?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, don't worry about it. It's just a fancy ceremony that some people don't attend anyway - especially if it's given posthumously! Even if you don't attend the formal service, you still get it; it's just stored until you collect it. You already have it on paper, anyway."

"Okay! I wasn't really _that _bothered about it!" Harry groaned, holding his hands up before the man could add anything more. "So seriously, what's all this about the Scythe?"

Tom considered his words. "Actually, this is the first I've heard about it being stolen. Whoever did it was not only powerful, but extremely prepared; the Scythe isn't often out of Naoze's sight, so they must have been waiting for him to leave it for awhile. Why? Are you thinking of looking for it?"

"Probably not," Harry shrugged. "But if we do come across anything about it, I'd like to have some idea about it. What I really meant was, why did Naoze tell me? He seemed to think I'd be pretty interested in it - not that I'm not, of course."

"You've lost a lot of people," Tom replied easily. "Your parents, Cedric, Ginny. He must have thought you'd have a lot of reason to want to be the one to find it to get that reward - do you realise what a gift that is? Bringing someone back to life?"

"Yes, b-"

"_But_," Tom finished for him, "I think he knows something more about it - something he didn't tell us. Otherwise, he'd just have mentioned it, and left me to explain to you what the Scythe can do."

The boy shook his head irritably. This was far too complicated. "What are these 'divine relics' anyway?"

"Every god or goddess is given two of them, at their birth," explained the ex-Dark Lord as they started back out to the entrance of the castle. "No-one knows where they come from; apparently there's a hidden treasury somewhere in the castle, which contains dozens of objects. Not even the gods know who made them or how - or if they just started to _exist_."

"They were _in_ the rooms?" Harry questioned. "You mean the castle was here before even the gods?"

Tom nodded. "That's the story, as it was told to me. Apparently when Naoze and his wife entered this Realm, it was completely empty; there were no living creatures on Earth, so nothing had died. The Realms and connections were here, the castle was here, and that was it. Life eventually started on Earth, and for some reason people's souls came here when they died. I'm not sure if even the gods know what happens beyond the Ninth Gate."

"You mean they're not even really gods!" Harry stated, stunned. "What, they just moved in from some other Realm, took over and demanded that everyone treat them as such?"

"What is a god?" Tom asked, not really bothered by Harry's outburst. "They're extremely powerful - almost omnipotent here, and they can affect your Realm to some degree; they have great powers and can bestow them on their favoured; they're naturally immortal, and very hard to kill otherwise. Just because they didn't start off life doesn't mean that they don't care about it or look after it. Occasionally they'll create a soul and give it a body on Earth. That's life, isn't it?"

Harry would have answered, or even queried who had made the castle, or the deliberate interconnectedness of the Gates and Realms, but they were back in the entrance they had started off in and had power-walked their way to the impressive double-doors. Almost invisible from afar, Harry could now see that there was a smaller door of normal size set into one of the larger doors.

"Ah." Tom paused. "Do you have food and drink with you?"

Harry patted his pocket, which contained his trunk. "Yep." he said, recalling his birthday gift from Mrs Weasley. "I suppose the Realm of the Dead isn't well known for its resources for the living?"

"Exactly," Tom agreed. "There are some things you can eat here, but they don't have much energy in them. There are mostly fruits and such. Okay. You think you could manage a couple of miles walk to the nearest village?"

"Easily. What's it called?"

"Orkney Gorge," read Tom. "It's pretty much on the side of a cliff... but there must be some way down, and we may find we have to go in another direction anyway."

"Okay," Harry agreed. "We'd best get started then."

With that, Tom gave the smaller door a firm shove, and let the light stream in. Harry followed him outside, looking about. It was different from the First Sanctum that he had woken in. The Sun - or perhaps _a_ sun - was pretty much the same as home, and the grass was at least green, even if it were a slightly pale and watery shade.

"All the Sanctums look different," Tom explained, putting the map away and looking for the right direction. "A few Sanctums have different environments in each of them as well... the Seventh and Eighth Realms are pretty well populated with all the people who've decided not to pass on to the Ninth Sanctum, temporarily or permanently."

Harry jolted suddenly as he realised something. "Wait - how long does it take someone to pass through onto the Ninth Sanctum?"

"Anywhere from a few hours to decades," Tom said, motioning over into the distance. "No-one really knows why. We need to go in that direction, by the way."

"So might some people that I knew still be around here?" Harry asked impatiently as they started off across the rolling field. It reminded Harry of the First Sanctum in that respect - it seemed astonishingly empty for somewhere that people souls passed through and settled down in every day.

Tom glanced at Harry, appearing to realise how important this was to him. "I suppose some might be," he admitted slowly. "I'd bet against your parents being here, but there's probably a chance of Cedric or Ginny being somewhere in Elysium."

They fell silent again as they walked, Harry contemplating what this meant. Could he find them and meet them, perhaps? Apologise for not saving them, or for putting them in danger in the first place? Were they, by some horrible coincidence, some of the fast ones, both sped through onto their ultimate end within a matter of hours or days? And if not, how could he find where they were?

He shook these nasty thoughts from his head as they reached the beginnings of a well-worn, paved road that simply appeared out of the grass and disappeared over a small hill and into the distance. They'd be at the village in an hour or so at their pace, though Harry had no idea whether he'd be able to rest while he was there.

Focusing his mind purely on the task at hand, Harry kept pace with his former enemy, only briefly wondering how on Earth this had managed to happen to him.

----------

Draco Malfoy sat with teeth bared in miserable, impotent fury. He couldn't stop the occasional snarl that he released, but he didn't care. There was no-one to see him in this disgusting, shabby little cell in Azkaban, after all. No-one except the guards, and even they left his cell alone as much as possible.

His father was disgusting. A traitor.

Luckily, he was also dead.

After he had discovered his - no, he wouldn't even _call_ that man his father - Lucius' spying habits, he was only too happy to tell Lord Voldemort. They had bided their time, until the moment was right - and he himself was made a full Death Eater, despite his age! - and finally his Lord had placed Lucius under Imperius and ordered him to join them in destroying Potter.

And what had happened? His master, his Lord, the man that cold give him power and wealth beyond all his dreams was dead. Killed by that repulsive, snivelling little Golden Boy. He had seen it - Harry-bloody-wonderful-Potter had been only too happy to impale Lord Voldemort in the back, not even daring to battle him face to face. Not that he could blame him... Potter would have had no chance in a fair duel.

So here he was. He'd done everything his Lord had ordered him; he'd rallied some of the Slytherins to him, he'd put the Mud-Blood Granger and the Weasel-girl under Imperius, made them split apart from their friends and family so that it would be easier to kidnap them for use as hostages...

And his Lord was still dead.

He was imprisoned.

Four life sentences, and then a combined hundred and twelve years in Azkaban. Plus a hefty fine of more than eight-hundred thousand Galleons - at least plenty was left for his mother, who was loyal to the Dark Lord.

But he was still stuck, trapped. There may have been no Dementors at the beginning, but more were drifting back each day since the Dark Lord's defeat. Soon there would be enough that one or more would be guarding his own cell, driving him insane like some common Muggle, and he could do nothing about it. Surely the battle would have ended differently if Dementors had fought with them... but his Lord had only time to gather a small force after his wounding by the daemon the first time...

He stared madly at the bars of his tiny window. Rusted as they were, they were strong, and the meagre food had sapped his strength. Six days he'd been in here since the trial, and he wished that Wizarding trials were longer; at least if he had been kept in the clean, furnished cell where the non-convicted prisoners were held, he could devise some plan of escape.

Now all he had was his burning rage and the hope that one of his Lord's fled followers may break him out. Then he would take his vengeance on Harry Potter - the perfect saviour, who enjoyed _piercing teenagers' brains!_ - and damn the consequences!

He sniggered to himself, careful to muffle the sounds. How far he had come! From up as a proud, Pure-Blooded Wizard favoured by Lord Voldemort himself, to a flea-pit that even the Mud-Blood Granger would find it hard to live in. It was probably almost as dirty as the Weasels' house.

As he continued this thought, the door grated open harshly, letting dusty rays of light spill in.

"Draco Malfoy." came the snap of a cultured voice; the sort of voice that belonged to the upper-class, the gentry. The type of people the Malfoys were happily 'in' with. "Get up."

He obeyed automatically, pushing his weakened body up against the wall, finally glancing up at the person who stood, framed in the doorway, holding a lit cigar. White hair. Strange, for one so young.

A cruel smile. "I have a job for you, if you can handle it."

Draco blinked lazily, his thoughts and eyes dulled from hunger. "Who are you?"

The Cheshire-cat grin widened. "My name is Lord Abyssay," purred the visitor. "But you can call me 'my Lord'. Or simply 'Boss'." 


	5. Intimation of Depravity

Chapter 5 » Intimation of Depravity 

----------

They had reached Orkney Gorge not much later, to Harry's relief. It was tiny; just forty or fifty buildings, though some were large, set into a fenced compound. Harry guessed this was to do with what Tom had said earlier - no-one had been separated; the criminals and 'baddies' were still among them here.

The village was, as he had also mentioned, set on a cliff. As they approached the entrance in the tall fence, one of the two guards who stood there detached himself from his companion and strode over. This man, Harry noted interestedly, was dead - but he certainly didn't look it. He appeared to be completely alive, even seeming to breathe. But then, so did Tom.

"Mr Riddle," he grunted, though his eyes were fixed on Harry. "And you?"

Harry hesitated. "Harry Potter," he said finally, noting a strange symbol on each of the man's armoured shoulders.

Now he looked at Riddle, who nodded. "We're just passing through, Graham. We'll only be here a couple of days, if that." He smiled reassuringly. "We'll be no trouble. Naoze can vouch for Harry."

The guard flinched at this name, and backed off slightly. "Forget it," he barked, obviously only too happy to let them in. Harry guessed it wasn't a common occurrence for people to invoke the god's name.

"Don't worry about him," Tom muttered to Harry as they passed through the now opening gate. "He's a bit full of himself, what with his recent promotion. He hasn't seemed to realise that he's one of just four guards in the entire village, and few pass by here anyway."

"How many?"

"Perhaps a few every month or so," Tom shrugged. "The village itself only has a population of about a hundred or so, anyway. I've only been here a few times, and I was _still_ warned about Graham's arrogance."

Harry looked around at the wooden buildings. They seemed quite sturdy and well-built. Most appeared to be houses, though there were some shops and a few large buildings that appeared to be halls or public-buildings. "Why are there shops? I mean, no-one needs to eat, do they?"

Tom snorted. "Put enough intelligent people together, and pretty soon you'll have trading and a currency system worked out. It's just human nature to find some way to be better than others - and money's a perfect way. No-one can die here, but they can still get hurt, and there are a few creatures out there that can rip apart someone's soul and destroy it utterly. The shops sell some weapons, travelling gear, clothes, entertainment... all sorts of things."

He patted his pocket. "I have some money; we'll need to get a room for the night."

"I didn't know the dead slept," Harry joked. Tom gave him an annoyed look.

"Sleep isn't just for the body. It's for the mind, to sort out what happened in the day, to compartmentalise everything. The mind is part of the soul, so of course we need to sleep."

Harry nodded. "I have some Oxtamed; you could just use that."

"Save it for if you need it," Tom suggested as they made their way to one of the larger buildings, which Harry guessed was some kind of hotel. "We're not going to get information about Syneeta today, anyway. She only arrived here at the same time as you, and even a daemon can't cause that much trouble that this little place would hear about it so soon. Let's just get an early nights sleep."

With that, they entered the noisy, crowded inn, shoving past one man in bewilderingly Victorian clothes, and another in modern jeans and a jacket. Tom motioned over the bar to the owner and haggled for a pair of rooms as Harry gazed about in rapt amazement. It was a nice place to visit, he mused - but not somewhere he'd want to live the rest of his afterlife.

----------

At the same time - eight o'clock in the evening, in England - Hermione Granger completed the twenty-seventh chapter of her book on eighteenth century Charms, and yawned loudly. She hadn't slept at all the previous night, tossing and turning. She knew that if she fell asleep, the dreams would come back.

In her waking hours, it was just stupid; she knew Ginny's death had not been her fault, she knew that no-one blamed her, she knew that feeling guilty would not bring Ginny back - and she didn't feel guilty, not really.

But at night, in her nightmares, suddenly she was back there. It wasn't that she _couldn't_ block Ginny from the curse - she saw it in her sleep, though she hadn't in real life - it was that she _didn't_. She could move, as much as she liked, and in her nightmares she simply chose not to save her.

She knew that her parents had talked seriously, once or twice in hushed conversation, about sending her to a counsellor. She didn't want that - had barely escaped being sent to a medi-wizard - and so she threw herself into studies and her worries about Harry, knowing that with time, the memory would fade and the pain dull.

It certainly wasn't as though these were useless time-wasters anyway; NEWTs would arrive in just two years, far harder than the OWLs were, and she needed to study as much as possible. And Harry... well, he was another matter. His letters had grown friendlier recently, more like the old Harry, but he was still far from the innocent boy she had lectured on the train. He wouldn't return, and she didn't want him to - that little boy wouldn't survive the things that he had faced, she knew.

Hermione yawned again, and slid the bookmark home. Her father was away for several days, a dentistry conference on EU regulations in Lisbon, and her mother was sobbing over a tear-jerking film downstairs.

She glanced again at the Daily Prophet, which lay on her desk. She'd spotted the short mention in the side-columns, about the absence of the daemon, and knew perfectly well that Harry had found it too. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, the Daily Prophet wouldn't even find it newsworthy, and there would be no mention at all until the next time they found a body. Or part of one, at least.

She would be sixteen in less than a month, and she was worrying about daemonic attacks and the mental degradation of a friend through death and violence as regular as - well, as school terms. What was wrong with this world?

Sighing, Hermione finally found the strength to shut the books. Perhaps she should go back to Dreamless Sleep potions. She didn't want to use it too much, in case she got addicted, but it would be quite safe to use now and then - and she needed _some_ sleep, after all.

She wondered how Harry was.

He had probably had a better day than her.

----------

Dumbledore was marking papers when the call came. The fire suddenly flared up, Fudge's face appearing in the flames, pale and panicked.

"Albus! It's an emergency!"

Leaving the papers for a moment, the headmaster glanced over to the head. "Of what sort, may I ask?"

"A _big_ sort. Resistance business," blustered the Minister, "and bloody important Resistance business at that."

Dumbledore immediately left his task and rose. "What appears to be the problem?"

Fudge looked grim now. "Potter. He went to Diagon Alley early, as you know - and now he's disappeared."

At the side of the room, Fawkes looked over curiously and trilled. Dumbledore's fist clenched at this blow. "How?"

"He was in The Leaky Cauldron one minute, there was a crash from upstairs, and by the time Tom got up there he was gone. Just _vanished_. There was blackened candle wax on the floor, and a broken mirror; he must have been trying some kind of ritual. We have no idea how - we didn't sense any magic being used!"

The old man rubbed his head, thinking as quickly as he could. "Can you find out what spell was done? Did he disappear on purpose?"

"Maybe," Fudge said, back to worrying. "But his broomstick was there - the Magecraft - and his owl. We've checked them over, but they must have been too far out of range of the spell. He didn't leave anything else, but... well, leaving those behind could have been an accident, or an attempt to mislead us; or the spell could have gone wrong. There's no magical residue _anywhere_ - we have a team scouring the room, and we can't figure out what he did."

"More questions for when he gets back then," Dumbledore smiled lightly. "as well as finding out exactly what happened at the end of last year. Don't worry; I'm sure he's alive and well, wherever he is. He won't have disappeared deliberately if it meant leaving those items behind, so it must have been an accident."

"He could still be dead, old boy!" hissed the Minister, eyes narrowing. The flames flickered dangerously. "Did you think of that? He could be incinerated! He could be at the bottom of the ocean! He could be stuck in the deepest, darkest jungle in Brazil, or on the damned _Moon_ for all we know!"

Dumbledore waved a hand gently. "Really, you're being quite silly. It is my personal belief that Harry will survive at least until his first confrontation with the Dark -"

"Then _they_ could have killed him!" the other man blustered furiously. "This could be one of their plots! Or worse, they could have stolen his power and then disposed of him. I think we should begin the growth of a reserve Subject, just in case. If Harry does return, we can eliminate it - if not, we'll be prepared for the future."

The headmaster shook his head wordlessly, and glanced back to his papers. He looked back up. "No. Certainly not. Harry is, I'm sure, alive -"

"That's only your personal belief," Fudge reminded him. "No evidence, no justification; I can't simply take your word for it, and neither can Lord Abyssay."

As Fawkes returned to sleep, the old man tapped his fingers on the desk. "I suppose you are correct. Is anyone else aware of Harry's disappearance?"

"Us, Tom of The Leaky Cauldron, my secretary - she received the letter - and some high-ranking members of the Resistance. Lord Abyssay is being informed right now."

"Make sure your secretary and Tom keep this quiet - erase their memories if necessary." He fixed his eyes somewhere above the head. "And if Lord Abyssay agrees to it, prepare a new Subject."

Fudge nodded his approval, and departed.

----------

As the morning broke - or at least the morning of the Eighth Sanctum of Elysium - Harry's eyes snapped open. It was still reasonably dark in his little room but he was wide awake, so he grabbed his wand from under his pillow and muttered a light spell.

That done, he enlarged his trunk (he doubted the Ministry would be able to sense his magic anymore) and pulled out some clothes to wear for the day. He sighed as he looked through all the compartments; large they may be, but he was rapidly running out of room. He would have to have them made deeper when he got back home.

The shower was quite primitive - no plumbing after all - but refreshingly cold, and quiet enough that it didn't wake anyone. When he was back in his room, he pulled on his Defence-robes and the heavy black cloak, and the dragonhide boots. He wasn't going feel safe here until he knew a little more about it.

He considered his weapons for a moment, and decided on leaving out the throwing-knives until he was more experienced with them. The wand and its holster was worn so it hung firmly by his left hand side, and he shortened the strap on the daggers sheathe so it could be wrapped tightly around his right leg, hidden.

Tucking his Y'Laagrondd pendant below his Defence-robes, he brought out the laptop and switched it on. The Techno-Chat, he discovered, didn't work; or so said the error message, at least - he couldn't connect to the Internet, either. It appeared even Techno-Magic couldn't break through Realms.

The Learnings section worked perfectly though; Harry slipped the rod into the back and performed a quick search for Elysium. There was little information - a brief explanation of the Sanctums (the Tenth wasn't mentioned), some information about Naoze and Aisiivou, and finally a statement that there was no way to leave Elysium without passing through the Ninth Gate.

There was no mention of any living person entering before Harry.

He glanced at his watch, noticing that it had stopped, so he removed it and left it in his trunk before shrinking it again. The Muggle one that he had bought was still working, but was obviously working to the wrong time - probably the time back in England. There still looked to be a few hours until everyone awoke, so he downloaded some information on how to use throwing-knives instead; it would apparently take plenty of practice.

Two and a half hours later, there was a knock at his door. It was Tom, impatient to leave, which Harry was only too happy to comply with. They trooped downstairs, having already paid the night before, and left the building to see the street as bustling as before.

"Keep an ear out for anyone mentioning a daemon," Tom muttered. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm not stupid, you know."

"You're sixteen," sniffed Tom, making way for a woman carrying an armload of eggs. "I think that's good enough."

Harry glared at him. "So, what? We're just going to wander around the village until we hear something? I mean, I'm all for sightseeing, but I'd like to get out of here sometime this decade."

"We're going to the guardhouse first," sighed Tom, "It may be out of the way, but the village is still connected to the guards' network. There's lines of almost instant communication, so if Syneeta's been spotted in any of the towns or villages, we'll be able to find out."

"And if we don't?"

"Then we'll either have to stick around a little longer, or head to the next village. If we head for a big town, there'll be people coming and going all the time as well, so we might get information firsthand."

"And if we _still_ don't...?" Harry enquired.

"By that time, I suppose we'll be pretty certain she isn't in this Sanctum. We'll head over into the Seventh, and start there." He glanced around. "Each of the guards' communication networks can only transfer information through the Sanctum we're in. They have messengers to go through the Gates if something affects more than one Sanctum."

Harry groaned. "So we're going to have to look through _five_ Sanctums to find her?"

"I doubt it," Tom shrugged. "We might just find her in this one, or the next - and we'll probably find out where she is if she pops up in another Sanctum, so we'll head straight there." He grinned smugly. "Hah! There's the Guardhouse, see? Anywhere you see that sign, it's something to do with the guards."

Harry looked over. Above the door of one of the small wooden buildings was a hanging sign, swinging lightly in the faint breeze. A sword and an arrow crossed over each other to form an 'x' shape, and Harry recognised it as the symbol he had seen on the guards' shoulders.

"So we just ask them whether there's been mass death and destruction?" Harry asked sceptically. "And they _tell_ us?"

"We're trying to rid them of a psychotic, demonic beast, on the orders of the ruler of the entire Realm. I'm sure we can find a way to convince them to give us a moment of their time." Tom pushed the door open, Harry following.

The interior was lit by what appeared to be paraffin lamps, set at well-spaced intervals on crude wooden tables along the walls. Several desks and chairs also furnished the room, several holding up musty stacks of paper, dusty jars of quills and bottles of ink.

There were two guards as well, one of who had been at the gates the previous day. Graham, the obnoxious one, was nowhere in sight. The pair looked up when Tom and Harry entered.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" Riddle beamed, holding his arms out as if accepting adulations from an adoring audience - alliteration being an advanced and amazing art.

The guard from the previous day - about fifty, dressed in a dark tunic rather than his armour, grunted something that could possibly be interpreted as a greeting.

Tom didn't seem to notice. "My young friend and I were wondering - if it wouldn't be too much trouble - if you could tell us of any news that may have reached you this morning? Perhaps news of a bloodthirsty, terror-wreaking beast from the unholy pits of the Tenth Sanctum, risen to freedom and full power, intent on seeking vengeance and strewing havoc in its wake?"

Three pairs of eyes trained on Riddle in the ensuing silence.

"I was told once or twice that my paperwork made interesting reading," he admitted after a moment. "But seriously, any news? Divine quest to be getting on with, don't-cha-know."

The younger guard - about thirty - plucked what appeared to be a modern cigarette from his mouth, and tapped the ash off into a small copper bowl. "Nothing of any interest since last week," he volunteered, still watching Tom as though he were afraid the Wizard would leap forward in his madness and bite him.

Harry grew impatient with the short answers. "Perhaps we could use your communication networks to _request _information?" he suggested loudly, picking out the most intelligent words he could come up with in the hopes of making them ignore that he was barely sixteen years old. "Or send messengers to the other Sanctums for reports?"

The men glanced at each other. "Only got one messenger," grunted the elder. "Can't use the network without permission from Captain Graham, anyway."

Tom smiled jovially. "Well, send your messenger over to the Seventh Sanctum for any news then," he chirped as he reached into one of the pockets of his robes, "and just go check the networks anyway. Permission from Naoze here, to override any authority to accomplish our goal."

The older guard snatched away the object that Riddle brought out, slipped it out of the cylindrical container and unrolled it. Harry realised it was a scroll - the container was quite attractive, brass with raised patterns of tiny flying birds, and a red silk tassel hanging from the bottom. The scroll itself was thick and cream-coloured; he couldn't see any of the writing that the man was perusing, but it was apparently quite long - they were standing for nearly half a minute while the guard studied it.

"All in order," he finally confessed disappointedly, reluctantly slipping the scroll back into its container and returning it to Tom. He rose, reaching for a quill.

Tom rushed in to save the moment. "Forget the paperwork," he stipulated, "this needs to be done quickly."

_Bureaucrat,_ Harry thought irritably, remembering Minister Fudge. He wondered whether the Minister of Magic was really so self-important, or if that were as much an act as his denial of Voldemort.

As the guard performed the impossible act of hurrying at a leisurely pace over to the interior door to call out someone's name, the younger guard - dressed in his armour - darted over to what appeared to be a Victorian telephone, and started spinning a number in on the dial.

"He's calling the Guard Control Centre of this Sanctum," Tom explained in a hushed voice. "He'll tell the switchboard operator to put out a message to all the guards to contact here if anything unusual turns up - we can't say anything specific, unless we want everyone locking themselves in their houses or having a mass exodus to other Sanctums."

"That'd probably be a good idea," Harry grumbled. He would have said more, but the guard's yelling finally paid off as a gangly, pimply seventeen year old appeared from the stairs beyond the door, dressed in armour that looked just about ready to fall off. He frantically snapped off a strange salute to the older guard that seemed to involve waving his whole body and nearly tripping over his own feet in the attempt.

"Recruit Mobley reporting for duty sir!" he squeaked, nearly hitting himself in the eye with his own hand. Harry winced and desperately tried not to laugh.

The fifty year old ignored the teenager's pathetic attempt at military precision and gave him his orders - to go to the Guard Control Centre of the Seventh Sanctum and tell them to send a messenger of their own if anything unusual had cropped up there - and then to repeat the message in the Sixth Sanctum.

As the adolescent stumbled off as quickly as he could into the cool air outside (Harry wondered how the boy would pass through the Sanctums - did he have some kind of diamond, like Tom had used yesterday?), the younger guard finished the call and replaced the receiver. "It's done," he said, a little more helpful than his elder. "Any information will go straight here."

"Be a while 'fore the recruit gets back," rumbled the grizzled superior. "You'll have a long wait for any news."

"Well, on the chance that there is any, you can either deliver it to us yourselves or pass it on to the staff of The Badger's Sett - we're staying there for awhile." Tom gave another wide smile. "And if the message got lost, or somehow never arrived - well, I'm sure you'd like to explain it to Naoze himself. I hear there's a nice little fortress in the Frost-Lands that needs staffing. Plenty of blizzard-beasts for you to practice your sword-play on, right?"

The man glared pure hatred at Tom.

"Well, that's settled then!" Riddle said happily. "I'll show Harry around for a while - he's new here, y'know. Enjoying it, aren't you?"

"Great natives," muttered Harry, fixing his eyes somewhere on the ceiling before his companion spun him round by the shoulders and pushed him outside.

----------

"Do you have a talent for making people not like you?" Harry demanded as soon as they were outside. Tom waved it away airily.

"Oh, it's a gift. They just don't appreciate my sparkling personality. Seriously, that git in there was Officer Randall - he's a bit easier to tolerate than Captain Graham, and that's not saying much."

"You've only been here a month!" Harry snapped, trying to hide amusement. "How can you possibly make two mortal enemies in that amount of time? Actually, never mind - I've just witnessed how you do it... was that threat really necessary?"

Tom shrugged, and straightened his robes. "Yes, the threat _was _necessary. Randall's so used to having nothing to do that when he _does_ get something he won't follow up on it. That should get him moving - the Frost-Lands aren't a pleasant destination for suspended guards. At least Graham, despite being so stuck-up, takes pride in his job and gets it done. Recruits Luke and Mobley are going to turn out just like them, mark my words."

"At least Mobley was good for a laugh," Harry smirked, remembering the spotty lad's clanking, overlarge armour and shrill voice."

Tom sniggered for a second before managing to hide it under a cough. "Yes, but unfortunately _he's _the one that's going to end up doing his job well. I've seen them all a couple of times before; had to pop into the village now and then for the novelty of talking to people who weren't all-powerful gods - and every time, Randall and Luke have been talking or playing cards. Poor Mobley's stuck as their messenger boy, and Randall doesn't even bother to train him."

He clapped his hands together. "Enough about them - like Randall said, it'll be a while before anything comes through, if it all. So what do you want to do?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do? This is a village of just a hundred people. It's stuck on the edge of a cliff, and barely anyone passes through anyway. We're probably the most exciting things to happen to it in about a century. What _is_ there to do?"

Riddle struggled with this for a moment. "Admittedly, not a lot." he said finally. "So... anything you want to be getting on with?"

Harry thought about this. "I don't suppose you know how to use throwing knives," he said slowly, and was disappointed when Tom shook his head.

"Sorry. I had a few tricks up my sleeves, but the boss' precursor didn't think I should be trained in anything of Muggle fighting beyond the basics. If something slipped out, people might have got suspicious y'know - what with my 'kill all Muggles' thing. Something else, maybe?"

Harry whet his lips before plunging himself in the unknown. "Do you know any Shadowmancy, or Blood or Soul magic?"

Tom blinked, then looked around warily. "I think we'd best go somewhere less public," he suggested, and strode off. Harry sped to catch up with him, realising that they were heading for the edge of the precipice. When it came into sight past the buildings - it was easily accessible, for the fence that surrounded the village obviously wasn't needed in a place where a hundred metre drop promised an impossible climb - he noticed it was quite desolate, there being nothing but scrubs of bushes and a lone rabbit which vanished down a hole when it heard the pair.

"Now," Tom said, sitting comfortably on the ground. "What's this about you wanting me to teach you Black Magic?"

Harry followed suit, and fidgeted, a little embarrassed. "Well... Shadowmancy isn't Black Magic, technically. It hasn't really been classified -"

"If it was, it wouldn't be Light Magic," Tom interrupted. Harry scowled.

"Maybe, but... well, it's not as if I'm about to go psycho and kill everyone. I mean, can you see me going and defeating the Dark with a bunch of leg-locker curses?"

The corner of Riddle's mouth twitched. "Point conceded. How did you find out about these, anyway?"

"Restricted section of the library," he shrugged. "Nicked some books."

The man sighed as he brushed some of the dusty earth off his lap. "Do you realise what they even _do_?"

"Shadowmancy," Harry recited, "is the ability to control shadows or to use them to effect in a spell or ritual."

"Nice memory," said Tom wryly, completely ignorant of the fact that Harry's memory of the spells was thanks to a certain 'rod. "But you're a little off. That's Shadowmancy at its most minor; allow yourself to hide in shadows, travel through interconnected shadows without using a physical body - next thing you know, you're turning into a shadow yourself, creating extensions of your body out of pure darkness."

Harry personally didn't think this sounded utterly terrifying, so he guessed it must be something quite different to actually see it. "I wouldn't go _that_ far," he allowed.

Riddle snorted. "You go one step, you either go all the way, or you turn back. That's why a little bit of knowledge is so scary - you can't turn back from it. It's the ultimate slippery slope. As for Blood Magic, that's even worse. You go from using a drop of animal blood to making some spell function, to making human sacrifices or boiling someone's blood in their body with a thought, because you didn't like how looked at you."

"Don't be daft," Harry scoffed. "There's such a thing as free will, isn't there? And morality?"

Tom waved a finger. "Not to be a cliché, but power corrupts. And at least an Avada Kedavra takes life immediately and painlessly- you can't use it as a torture method - unlike a spell to make someone die from blood loss after it's poured out from every orifice on their body."

Harry felt a little queasy at that one. "Soul Magic?"

"When you've ripped your first soul to shreds as if it never existed, or imprisoned someone's very being inside a statuette for all eternity, awake and aware and very much going insane - then I think you might look back on my teaching you with a little regret."

Harry frowned. "I know some spells and rituals of all three types right now."

Tom looked over, startled.

"I'm sorry," Harry added before the man could say anything, "but I think Dark or Forbidden Magic would be my best shot at killing the Five, and if I don't have someone helping me, then I'm just going to train myself."

Tom was silent for a minute, before he spoke again. "I don't doubt you would. You're very stubborn." He sighed. "I'll teach you some of the milder forms of Shadowmancy, and maybe a little Blood Magic. Let's steer clear of Soul Magic for a while though, okay?"

"Thanks," said Harry honestly, relived that he wouldn't have to learn on his own; not that he probably would have had to anyway, with Levina and Ajax back home.

They spent the next two hours going over the theory of Shadowmancy, its limits and uses, until finally Tom got to his feet. It was near midday now, and his shadow was short.

"Alter my shadow," he demanded of Harry. "Lengthen it, change its shape, darken it, make it disappear altogether. Anything."

Harry rose a little unsteadily and took a deep breath. When he was ready, he looked over his tutor's shadow, memorising the shape and length, and deciding that he would attempt to change its basic shape. It didn't look much like a person at the moment - the sun was nearly overhead and the form was short, squat and misshapen.

"Okay," said Harry, and took the first step on a path that only led down. 


	6. Fragments of Mystery

Chapter 6 » Fragments Of Mystery

----------

**_WORLD EXCLUSIVE! Boy-Who-Conquered Missing! _**

_by Rita Skeeter _

_When this reporter returned to work after a well-deserved holiday, she had no idea that her first story would be one of shock to the Magical population of Britain. For none other than Harry Potter, 16, twice defeater of Dark Wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, has vanished without a trace. _

_Our story begins, dear reader, just days ago when the Ministry of Magic announced to the press the names of the eighteen people who were to receive an Order of Merlin at this years ceremonies. A large increase on last year, due to the heroic efforts of Aurors, Unspeakables and Ministry workers whose helped proved invaluable in the capture of Leone Nikastal's daemon and the downfall of You-Know-Who. _

_Harry Potter's name was among those who were to receive the Order of Merlin, 2nd Class (which has been widely criticised by many, who believe the heroic boy deserves at the very least a 1st Class, and a title). However, at the ceremony just several hours ago, Ministry officials were forced to admit that Harry Potter's absence was caused not by illness or refusal of the public attention despite his shy and polite demeanour. _

_Instead, the Boy-Who-Lived, saviour of the Wizarding world has been missing since Thursday the twenty-second, nearly two whole days ago. Ministry sources informed the Daily Prophet that no explanation can be found for young Harry's disappearance, which was in mysterious circumstances - the details of which are top secret and un-divulged. _

_Even Harry's family and closest friends have remained unaware of our hero's plight, despite a Ministry spokeswoman's assurances that the Ministry's full resources were committed to identifying the Boy-Who-Conquered's location and bringing him home safely. _

_Gravena Grudging, 72, expressed her disgust with the Ministry's investigations. "It's an absolute farce!" she shrieked, hitting a passer-by with a cauldron. "The Ministry's done nothing for that poor boy, who's saved all our lives once again. He's protected all of us and now the Ministry can't even look after that dear little boy for a single day. I'd bet anything it was Death Eaters." _

_Other expressed the same views, though some had even more worrying ideas. "Of course it's Fudge's doing," snorted Bran Biggles, proprietor of Biggles' Baked Goods and Fancies. "He hates him, dinnee? Sayin' all those things about the boy, tryin' ta get him locked up. He's either got him locked away somewhere, or the wee bairn's gone for good." _

_Doubtless, the Boy-Who-Conquered's supporters will (continued on pages 2-4 and 6) _

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione shrieked, throwing the paper down. "The Ministry must know _something_!"

Dumbledore looked over to her, solemnly. "The Ministry does have some clues Miss Granger, Mister Weasley. Harry has certainly not vanished deliberately, despite many of his belongings being missing. Both Hedwig and the Magecraft are still at The Leaky Cauldron, from whence Harry has gone astray. His old Firebolt was still at Hogwarts, as you know, in the Quidditch cupboard -"

"I don't care about his broom," Hermione snapped, not caring about rudeness. "Where _is_ he?"

"As I was explaining," Dumbledore continued calmly, "he has not left deliberately. Either he left by accident or was taken by someone else. There's appears to be no sign of a break-in, and Tom says no-one else was upstairs at the same time. On the side of Harry being taken, there was a window open - if the perpetrator of the crime was an Animagus, for example, he could have entered without being noticed. On the side of Harry vanishing accidentally, he appeared to be working some kind of spell at the time; if it went wrong or worked in an unexpected way, he could have been transported somewhere else."

"Or he could have left deliberately," Ron argued, "but accidentally left Hedwig and the broom behind. Or maybe he thought he wouldn't need them wherever he was going!"

The headmaster sighed, feeling every one of his years - including all his twenty-four past lives, several of which had been exceptionally long-lived. "Possibly... but I doubt Harry would leave without leaving a note or writing to someone. Sirius - who I might add is in an absolute uproar - says Harry didn't write to him, and you two and Sirius are the ones he would most likely write to."

He steepled his fingers. "I asked you both here, because I wanted to tell you both in person. If Harry comes into contact with you in any way - if you have any idea where he might be, or what ritual he was doing - please, tell me straight away. Even if only to let us know that Harry is safe."

Hermione gritted her teeth. _If we knew where he was, we'd tell you!_ she screamed impotently in her head.

"Yes, professor," Ron said shortly, obviously just as unpleased as she was.

They left together, allowed to spend the rest of the day at Hogwarts before the Flooed back to their homes, when a thought struck Hermione. "Do you think Harry might have used that illusion of his? The one connected to his tattoo?"

Ron frowned. "He might have, but I would have thought that Tom would have told the Ministry about it if he thought it would help. Besides, if Harry _is_ using the illusion then it means that he doesn't want to be found - so it wouldn't be right of us to give away his secret."

Hermione nodded, relieved. "You're right. It's better if we just keep quiet about that." She pursed her lips. "Ron - Dumbledore said that the window was open... what if Wormtail somehow got in? He wasn't arrested or killed... he's still out there somewhere..."

"I don't think so," Ron said. "I mean, we saw the room Harry was staying in. Do you think a rat could climb its way up to the window? And why not just kill Harry and leave his body there? Unless he took him to use him to resurrect You-Know-Who again... but you couldn't get a person to fit through that window."

Hermione's eyes widened. "And all Magical hotels have anti-Apparition barriers on them anyway, to stop people running out on their bills! So he couldn't have left that way, either. What about a Portkey?"

Ron tried to think up a way that this would be impossible, but couldn't. He shook his head dejectedly. "It's possible," he admitted. "On the other hand, maybe Harry took on one of _his_ Animagus forms and left himself." He squeezed his friend's arm and went to say something more when they heard a door shut and voices.

"- gone," said the sharp female voice, from along the corridor. "If Harry was trying to do what I think he was, then he could be in serious trouble."

"I've already told you what he was doing," said a frustrated male voice. "Weren't you even listening?"

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, both recognising the woman's voice; Professor Levina Carnaena. "Come on," Hermione hissed, moving as quickly and quietly as she could into one of the disused classrooms. Ron joined her behind the door, both listening intently.

"Of course I was listening," Professor Carnaena was saying, "but despite your knowing that he was going to attempt the spell, how do you know that he was attempting _that_ particular one when you interrupted?"

"The mirror was there, _and _the ingredients he said were needed!"

"Fine," said Carnaena, sounding exhausted. "I was hoping it wasn't, but I believe you. And that means Harry's in big trouble."

Ron and Hermione listened even closer at this; both had also now noticed that despite the two voices, there was only the sound of one pair of shoes - Professor Carnaena's by the sound of it, as her boots had short heels on them that made a distinctive clacking sound against the tile floor.

"So what do we do?" asked the harsh male voice.

Carnaena sighed as they passed the door Hermione and Ron were hiding behind. "Firstly, don't go looking for him. You'll just get stuck on the other side as well, and I need you here - if Harry uses the link to contact you, I can tell him what to do. For now, we'll just do some research..."

Finally, her voice got quieter as the pair got too far away, and despite their straining, the teenagers could hear no more.

They peeked outside to check no-one was watching, and then slipped out. "They know what's happened to Harry!" Ron grinned, before scowling. "How the hell do they _know_?"

"Ron!" Hermione tutted, grabbing his arm and pulling him in the opposite direction that the other two had gone. "The question we should be asking is _what do we do about it_? Do we risk confronting them, or do we pretend we never heard anything? It didn't sound as if they wished Harry any harm... not if Professor Carnaena suggested Harry could contact that man. They sounded quite worried about him, actually."

"Yeah, but we still have a right to know where Harry is! Maybe we could help him or something. Besides, I still think we should find out who that man was, and how both of them know what's going on."

"Maybe he's Professor Carnaena's husband or something," Hermione said, exasperated. "It's not really important. The important thing is to find out how we can help Harry -"

"So the best thing to do is find out what happened to him - and the only way to do that is to talk to those two. Problem solved!"

They paused by a suit of rusty armour. "All right," sighed the girl. "We'll retrace our steps and confront the Professor. We'll wait until she's alone, though - and have our wands ready. Let's keep this from the other teachers for now, in case she really is on our side."

Ron nodded eagerly, and the pair turned back, hoping their Divination teacher hadn't travelled too far away.

----------

Harry and Tom were meanwhile celebrating Harry's first successful piece of Shadowmancy in The Badger's Sett. Tom had consumed half a pint of a foul-smelling brown concoction, which was apparently a highly alcoholic drink that had been popular in the Wizarding world several centuries ago, before the only supplier died taking the recipe to the grave.

"That's one of the best things about Elysium," sighed Tom happily, after swaying a little. "No knowledge is lost here! Someone, somewhere, knows anything you want. Secrets are two-a-penny here - not that they have pennies," he admitted. Harry rolled his eyes, hoping Riddle wouldn't notice. If only he had seen Voldemort acting like this before, he wouldn't have been afraid to face him in battle.

The man slammed his tankard down on the table. "Are you list'nin' to me, Harry?"

"Absolutely." he lied, taking another mouthful of his water.

"Good. As I was sayin' -" Tom paused, forehead wrinkled in concentration. "What wuz I sayin'?"

Harry groaned. "You were talking about how impressed you were that I made your shadow look like a cat; and then you started talking about your beer."

"Not beer," Riddle hiccupped. "Divine beverage. _Beyond_ mere beer."

"Quite," said Harry, and silently swore to stay alive for as long as possible.

----------

Adair Connor skimmed through the fax he had just received and assimilated the information. Realising its importance, he quickly stepped over to his desk and tapped the buttons to the intercom. Lord Abyssay's voice filtered through. "What is it, Connor?"

"I've just received a fax confirming the rumours we've been hearing for the past two weeks," Connor spoke quickly, eyes still on the paper. "I can fax it through to you right now, if you like."

Abyssay's sigh was clear. "That's one problem with all the security and safeguards on my office door. My own secretary, in the room next door, can't deliver a sheet of paper without spending ten minutes getting past the precautions."

"Should I deliver it?"

"No, just fax it through. It'll save us time. Have someone look into a method of allowing you in here quickly, without relinquishing the security measures."

Adair confirmed the order and faxed the unassuming page through into the office next door. It certainly made for interesting reading, he mused as he turned back to the immediate paperwork. Brenna, the Necromancer of the Dark, had got her hands on some kind of new weapon. The details were vague, but the threat was real enough - she'd been bragging about it so much that even their few informants had managed to hear of it.

The blond man paused at one of the reports. Subject FB/P/27E had been approved, and was ready to go into the initiation phase. A pity. He hoped they'd find the Potter boy soon; it would be nasty for him to return, only to find out what they'd done in his absence.

----------

They found Professor Carnaena in her office, where she had apparently gone to sort out the schedules for the upcoming term. Hermione doubted the files on her desk were really that innocent if she seemed so disturbed about Harry, but they certainly appeared innocuous.

The office - for it was the first time the pair had entered it - seemed quite sparse. Functional, clinical, with little real warmth to it; it was neat, and certainly didn't look like a room that someone might spend a lot of time skiving off in. Work, work, work, was all that Hermione could read from the impersonal atmosphere.

The Divination teacher looked up as they entered. "A knock is usually the first step in entering someone else's rooms."

Ron leapt in before Hermione could reply. "Not when you've got something to hide, it isn't! Where's Harry? What's happened to him?"

The woman eyed them with disdain and... something else in her eyes. "Harry _Potter_, I suppose? I have -"

"Don't say you have no idea!" Ron snapped out, his ears turning a furious red. "We heard you talking to that man in the corridor. You know what's going on, so tell us!"

Hermione tugged him back, hand at her wand, as Carnaena smiled in a predatory manner. "If you had waited until I finished, you would have found that I was going to say 'I have some idea, but I am still working on the exact location'. Do you gain an illicit thrill from interrupting people? Only it isn't a very useful, or admirable trait."

Hermione swallowed and found her tongue. "Professor, what's happened to Harry? We just want to know if he's okay, and whether we can help him at all." Ron vigorously nodded his agreement.

"An interesting idea," Carnaena mused, looking them over with a small spark of interest. "I suppose I could let you in to a little of what I know..."

"How about all of it?" Ron contested hotly. "Look Professor, I know you seem to think this is all some wonderful secret, but if we could do anything, _anything_ at all to help Harry then we should know. That is, if you _want_ to bring him back?"

The woman smirked. "Oh, all right. You've convinced me. Close the door now... take a seat - bring your wands out if you feel more comfortable, it must be rather awkward keeping one hand in your pocket all the time - and listen to what I have to say."

With a wary glance at each other, the pair did as she said, sitting tense in their seats and ready to jump up at the slightest hint of a trick. Carnaena pushed her papers aside and looked them over.

"Now," she said clearly. "What I am about to tell you is completely secret - much of it is known by certain governments, organisations or individuals, but some of it is known only to Harry, me and another member of our little group; you'll meet him soon enough."

"The one we heard you talking to?" Ron interjected. "Er - sorry."

"Please don't interrupt, Mr Weasley. However, you are correct in your conclusion. For now though, kindly remain quiet and leave your questions until afterwards. There are some things I am not going to tell you - things that it would have an adverse effect for you to know, and things that are for Harry to tell you, should he choose."

She cleared her throat. "What you are about to hear must remain untold to anyone who is not already aware. Even your friends, family and teachers must remain ignorant. This charm will make sure that you abide by these rules that I have just set down. Hold the tips of your wands to mine."

The pair did so. The words that the trio said were identical to the words Harry, Malfoy and Dumbledore had said just less than a year ago in the headmaster's office, as he had sworn the boys to secrecy over the facts of Atlantis. As soon as the three people withdrew their wands, Carnaena sat back.

"I first met Harry last year at Hogwarts - the person he was spending his late-night training sessions with was me. I've been teaching him various things; magic, ways of fighting, things he needs to know to fulfil the two prophecies that were written about him. The second one has already been performed; that was his defeating of Voldemort, and the occurrence of the Eclipse.

"The first prophecy, however, has only been partially completed. It explains how Harry, after defeating Voldemort, may go on to fight his _true_ enemies; darker and more powerful than Voldemort could ever hope to be. Yes?"

Hermione put her hand down, wondering why she was acting as though she were in a class. "Professor, why haven't _we_ heard of these prophecies? Does Harry know about them, or Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore was aware of the first one. He told Harry, who stumbled upon the second. The second was made by Elspeth Glades, if you want to look her up - find the prophecy about the Phoenix and the Eclipse of Remembrance. It's quite long. Now... Dumbledore isn't aware of my links to Harry, and I plan to keep it like that for as long as possible. Your headmaster is a reasonably influential player in a game that hearkens back over five millennia ago, and he's obliged to pass all important information up the chain of command in his organisation."

The pair listened in growing amazement and incredulity as their Divination professor explained about the murder of the Cyrin royalty and the prophecy that Merlin had made before his death. She recounted how Natasha Nikastal and Diana Genevieve had been elemental spies for the Dark, and why Leone had released the daemon; and that Harry was the Phoenix, destined to defeat the Five or die in the attempt. She didn't tell them about Techno-Magic, or that she had been present in Atlantis millennia ago - better that they remained unaware of both facts.

"So this... Resistance... has been messing around with eugenics for three centuries - and Harry is the result?" Hermione said sceptically. At Ron's puzzled look, she clarified. "Eugenics is when you breed animals or plants for particular traits; like cows that give more milk, or a different colour rose. The Nazis tried it with humans during World War Two to create 'perfect' Aryans."

Carnaena tutted. "I don't recall saying I approved of it, you might recall. Actually, I have no real opinion either way; it's happened, Harry was born, and whether it's inhumane or not is of no consequence. The fact is that Harry is most certainly the prophesied Phoenix, and he's accepted the responsibility that comes with that title."

Hermione shook her head. "That's daft. If that were true, Harry would have told us. Why would _you_ tell us right now? And it doesn't explain where Harry is. And -"

"Will you let me finish?" she sighed. "Harry didn't tell you because he was sworn to secrecy - much of it he can't physically talk about anyway, thanks to the secrecy-spell Dumbledore performed on him. And if he did tell you, you'd be in even more danger; if the Dark knew that you were aware of his role in the war, they'd focus on you as a way of getting to Harry.

"I have my own reasons for telling you; not least because I'm going to need some help and I know I can probably trust you two more than most people. I've come across some rather important and particularly disturbing information that I'll need some assistance with

"As to your last comment, Harry has - according to my source - done something rather stupid." she snorted. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"What?"

Levina cocked an eyebrow. "_Now_ you're interested? How fascinating. Harry has foolishly decided to attempt a particularly powerful example of ritual magic; one that he's far too inexperienced to have a go at. Not only that, but he did it without any help, and I have little idea as to what exactly may have happened.

"As far as I've managed to work out, it goes something like this. My source says that Harry, hearing of the daemon's escape from the Ministry, found a way to send the creature back to its place of origin rather than letting it run around loose. However, my oh-so-intelligent contact managed to interrupt the ritual half-way through, which ended up sending Harry somewhere else."

Ron looked determined. "Where?"

"That's what I have yet to ascertain. Firstly, I have no idea what happened to the daemon; the ritual may have worked, or it may have created an unexpected effect - or none at all. I can't really find the daemon and ask it." Carnaena tapped the desk with a quill and looked seriously at the pair. "The spell was one to transport the daemon; I assume it may have happened to Harry instead. I've already managed to check the items used in the ritual, and thankfully Harry hasn't been trapped in any of _them_.

"My contact - who has a certain link with Harry - assures me that he is still alive, and most likely trapped partway to where the daemon was meant to go. We haven't attempted to contact him yet, as such a spell is incredibly traumatising for the magical connection; we don't want to try to speak to him too soon and end up severing the link completely."

Hermione though about this for a moment. "So how long is it before you can contact him? I mean, it's been two days already. How do you know he's all right?"

"If Harry doesn't return by this evening, we'll attempt to contact him. My source's link with him is stable enough that he is constantly aware of Harry's health - he appears to be uninjured and awake."

"So where is Harry?" Ron blurted out, "And who's your contact?"

The woman grinned, showing unnaturally perfect teeth. "Harry is, I believe, in the Realm of the Dead. Oh - and meet Ajax."

----------

At the weekly meeting with the rest of the Council, Sir Abyssay was swift to produce the file about Brenna's latest acquisition. The seven leaders discussed the matter for some time, finally deciding upon waiting for more information.

The topic turned to Subject FB/P/27E - ready to begin development - and the likely whereabouts of the Phoenix. Then various local matters in the continents that each of the seven Council members was in charge of, including the case of some nobody-boy - Draco Lucius Malfoy - who might be useful to them, as his father had been.

Finally, the last subject came. The second-in-command of the entire Resistance and head of the North American branch, gave an update on the situation in his territory.

"As we all know," he asserted, shifting his overlarge bulk; near-constant paperwork didn't do much to develop muscles anywhere but the lower arm; "the presidential elections are coming up in eleven months. Now, we've gone over the candidates, and our best bet is to stick one of us in the top position - it's impossible to just control the guy with magic, thanks to the secret Wizard guards that not even the top brass know about."

Asia snorted. "A risky step, don't you think?"

"We've done it before," South America reminded her. "It was a while ago, but we could pull it off even easier now. A little disinformation here, a few bribes and blackmail there, discredit the opponents..."

"It would make our job a lot easier in the North American sector if we had ultimate power." North America agreed. "Right now, all we have are a few people in the top positions. I think it would be for the best... we've already got a few promising candidates lined up."

Europe - also known as Sir Abyssay - sighed wearily. "Perhaps we should think about this a little more, George. Let's not go rushing in where angels fear to tread, as the saying goes. Now... as Wizards aren't allowed to take the presidency, I assume you'll either put our of our Muggle or Squib agents in?"

"We have a few magical agents who are unknown to the Wizarding world," North America - George Stone - said proudly. "We can have full histories for them in less than a week. And I mean _full_ - the news crews could get interviews from old ladies who swear they gave 'em piano lessons as kids!"

Antarctica gave a wheezing cough and tapped his cane hard on the marble floor. "I have an appointment on just a few minutes, and we _are_ running rather late. Perhaps we could continue this at next week's meeting, when we might also have more information about this new weapon of Brenna's... the scythe?"

As Abyssay watched politely, the septet swiftly agreed and rose to head back to their bases and appointments. As the European head left the room and back into the main HQ, an expression of utter disgust replaced the look of calm composure.

"Sir?" asked Adair Connor, who waited by the door.

"Idiots!" snapped his boss, striding down to the office some halls away. "Every last one of them, idiots. They can't decide a thing - wait for more information on the new weapon, indeed! They're only doing that because they can't be bothered to take any action. And the way they talked about just... slipping someone into power like that! Putting a new president in place!"

"It is possible, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," the noble snapped, "but firstly do we _need_ to, or do they just want to know they can call up a nuclear strike when they bloody feel like it? And we spent _half a minute_ talking about it! Half a minute and you can see they've already decided to do it. They're incompetent, Connor, and a waste of space." Abyssay's voice lowered. "Stone is an idiot, used to the pleasures of power, and that's it. He hasn't two brain cells to rub together. Jeffrey's 'appointment' was his meeting with one of his whores - another little vice of his that he thinks I don't know about.

"Carlos is more interested in the money and power struggles with his own men - he can't even keep his own people in check! - Mai's dedicated, but has a habit of making more enemies than allies: Stephen's just plain useless, and H'rk doesn't understand Human politics enough anyway." A furious sigh.

"_Will_ you put one of our people in power in America, Sir?" Connor questioned, wide-eyed at this outburst.

"Probably," Abyssay acknowledged. "It may be useful in future. The main concern at this point, though, is to find the Phoenix. If I'm to take solo control of the Resistance, I'll need his help." The aristocrat's eyes lit with determined passion. "We'll need his power if we're to clear this organisation of the dried-up, useless pond scum that hide within it. I run the entire organisation, and those fools insist on dragging me down with them - no longer! I have to assert my leadership, not have it torn seven ways by those idiots who think themselves equal to me."

Sir Abyssay paused at the office door and looked back at Connor. "With me as the Resistance's head, this organisation will be more than just an influential force; it will be _the_ major player in world affairs, pulling every string, hearing every whisper. That is my dream. That is my ambition. I believe in your loyalty Connor, which is why I explained all this to you just a year ago. Do you still want this?"

Adair nodded eagerly. "I think you're right Sir. I still do." He looked resolute. "What do you want me to do?"

The conspirator turned back to the door and began the security clearances to enter. "I want you to arrange a health problem for Jeffrey. Something major to either kill him or make him physically incapable of performing his job. Perhaps a heart failure - it has to look natural. Take care of it by next week... and keep a watch for any news of Potter or that scythe Brenna has. I suspect I'm going to need both if I'm to take control."

As Sir Abyssay entered the office, Connor moved to his desk and brought up a list of useful contacts who could arrange a health crisis for the leader of the Antarctic region. He didn't notice the electronic bug recently hidden in the lining of the seat of his chair, recording and transmitting every word that had been said, nor the Seeing Stone disguised in the light-fitting overhead, broadcasting images of the room. 


End file.
